Time to Grow
by Foibles and Fables
Summary: Lexie Grey's life was finally beginning to look up. But, when fate sends more than a few very unexpected twists and turns at her, what will she do? When she faces the hardest decisions of her life, what will become of her relationships and of herself?
1. A Storm is Going to Come

**Here comes another multi-chaptered story! This is an idea I've had for a while now that never managed to make its way from my brain to my keyboard. It got its second wind recently and I decided to pursue it once again. Just a few notes: this story will contain angst that isn't hinted at in this opening chapter. I promise, the storyline will pick up very soon. Also, this takes recent spoilers concerning George's character and throws them into disregard, because he's central to this story's plot. Dammit, if the show isn't going to give him something to do, then I will! This chapter picks up the morning after 5.19.**

**Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. This writing is for entertainment purposes only and is not for profit.**

Two and a half bites into a bowl of Corn Pops and milk, Lexie Grey stopped chewing and put down her spoon. She made a face at herself, clueless as to what caused her to just do that. It was a feeling in her stomach, not nausea or cramps, a sudden coldness in her core that spread all the way to her fingertips and toes. It gripped and squeezed her chest for an instant before dissipating into nothing.

Biting her lip uneasily, Lexie tried to ignore it and started to swallow. She almost didn't finish, and the cereal caught for moment somewhere between her mouth and her stomach; she realized the answer. She knew what the sensation was. It wasn't the first time it had come over her. It was a strange mixture of trepidation, ignorance, and excitement, like a distant relative to homesickness. It was the feeling in a person's bones when a storm was about to hit.

Crossing her legs beneath her in the chair, she glanced around the room. Nothing was different. The fancy wallpaper and carpet of Mark's Archfield room were the same as they always were. Cereal and milk tasted the same as it always had. From behind the blinds, she could see that it was a typical gray Seattle morning. But there was just this something…

She didn't know how, she didn't know when. But something big was coming, some kind of fundamental change in existence. An earth-shattering chain of events would be set off very soon. From the feeling, she couldn't tell what the outcome it would be. She had no trend to go off of. She recognized it as being the one that had filled her the day before her mother died. But, it was also present before she found out she was accepted into Harvard, and just minutes before Molly announced she was pregnant.

Either way, life was about in for a major shake-up. In that moment, Lexie wasn't quite so sure she could handle much more change, no matter how good or bad. She scooped another spoonful into her mouth, not tasting the sugary morsels as she chewed absentmindedly. As if her life hadn't taken enough unexpected turns in the past year.

Obviously, the biggest was her mother dying. Changing her plans for going through her residency at Mass General and moving to Seattle was the second. Number three, dad becomes alcoholic. She met the half-sister of whose existence Lexie was only vaguely aware, and she ended up hating her Lexie principle alone. That eventually changed too as they reached an impasse during the latter half of the year. Internship itself was like being tossed into a tank of hungry sharks, and even her photographic memory couldn't carry her through anymore.

Said the real world to Lexie Grey, "Greetings, and hope you're enjoying having your life slowly decimated!"

The guys sucked too. Lexie hadn't had much (any) luck with the men of Seattle Grace Hospital. She sometimes forgot that she had once hit on her half-sister's boyfriend. Granted, they were almost broken up at the time, but it was the principle of the thing. Strike one. Then, Alex Karev decided to sleep with her, get her hopes way up, and then drop her like a hot potato for another woman who had apparently been there longer than she had. Strike two. Her eventual crush on George O'Malley was a complete failure, resulting in nothing but a broken heart and an awkwardly strained friendship. Strike three, she should have been out.

But, somehow, she wasn't. Fate had another curve to throw at her, and his name was Mark Sloan.

He had a notorious reputation about him that came from long before she arrived at Seattle Grace. He was the manwhore, the womanizer, the one not to be trusted. When she found out that he was interested in her, possibly out to make a conquest, she figured she might as well go for it. What was another mistake at that point? A single drop in a flood. So, with knowledge of the possible consequences but not particularly caring about them at that point, she took a chance and went to him.

What she found amazed her.

Of course, the sex was phenomenal. She never doubted it would be. He kept her coming back for more. And the more she discovered about him, the more attached to him she became. He wasn't the man she expected him to be, not rude or uncaring. When he would smile at her like she was the most important thing in the world and hold her when they were through, she couldn't fathom how the nurses once began a coalition against him. He wasn't a bad man at all.

In fact, he was the best thing to happen to her during those hard months. She might have even been falling for him.

And, with that, Lexie heard the door unlock and open. The best thing stepped through, returning from the Archfield gym, glistening with a small amount of sweat. He worked out every morning before work, so she was used to waking up without him there. On days when they were off and the weather was nice, they would go running together. Mark couldn't stand going through a day without an hour of exercise or running two miles. He also insisted on taking the stairs back up to the room, even when Lexie would whine and beg that they take the elevator. Once, she was so exhausted that she only made it halfway up the stairwell before Mark had to carry her the rest of the way. He made fun of her for a long time after that one.

Still, even in his sweaty exercise clothes, he looked incredible. Much better than her, in any case: still in her pajamas with bed head and milk probably dribbling down her chin. He looked at her with those beautiful blue eyes and she felt her arms go limp for an instant.

"Hey," he said nonchalantly, holding one arm behind his back and closing the door with the other.

"Good morning," she replied, smiling sleepily, thoughts of the impending change all but pushed from her mind as he approached her. She took another bite of cereal.

"Derek proposed to Meredith last night," he reported, smirking as he sat across from her, and she almost inhaled the Corn Pops that she was in the process of chewing.

"Really?!" she asked excitedly, muffled because of her full mouth. She tried to swallow as quickly as possible. "He did? Where? How did he do it? Did- did she say yes?" she spouted frantically, heartbeat increasing due to the exhilarating idea and thankfulness because she wouldn't have to bear the burden of that secret anymore. There was also a bit of relief too. This was probably where that feeling came from. A wedding was a big change.

Mark laughed at her grin and overdramatic reaction, something he had found to be quite endearing from the beginning, something totally different than he'd been attracted to before. "Get this," he started, gesturing toward her with a single hand, keeping the other hidden. If she hadn't been so thrilled by the news, she might have noticed this. "He decorated an elevator with a bunch of old scans, thank you cards, articles, and stuff like that. All of them had to do with surgeries he and Meredith performed together. Christ, he even had the CT from the first surgery she scrubbed in on with him." Mark laughed once, clear and genuinely amused, tossing his head back in the air. "And he thought _my_ plan was over the top."

Lexie sighed dreamily. "That is so romantic," she said. Mark rolled his eyes.

"But she did say yes," he continued. "So, hopefully, there's going to be a wedding." Lexie clapped her hands together eagerly.

"Oh, I love weddings!" she exclaimed, already turning starry-eyed picturing white dresses and champagne bottles. She shook her head and focused on Mark again, another thought striking her. "Did Derek talk to you about it?" she asked cautiously. She knew that things between Mark and Derek still weren't back to normal after the whole fistfight. It was a shame, really. He claimed that she was worth the fight, but she wasn't convinced that was true.

Mark looked away from her, scratching absently at the back of his neck. "Well, no," he answered honestly. "But I'm sure he will." He nodded briskly, trying to convince both her and, subconsciously, himself. "I'll be his best man again."

"You really need to talk to him," Lexie advised him after a moment, raising her eyebrows in concern. "I hate to see the two of you on the outs. You love each other in the most platonic way possible. Have you tried apologizing?"

"No," he replied curtly, looking down at the tabletop. After a second, he looked back up at her, face cheerful once again. He had the ability to do that, and it astonished her sometimes. "Anyways, since, with any luck, there will be a wedding and I'll no doubt be at least invited, I have a promise to keep." He grinned and stood, walking over to her chair. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, placing his free hand on her shoulder.

"Promise?" she asked, laughing and raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, a promise." He cleared his throat dramatically in a cheesy display. "Lexie Grey," he began, leaning in and touching his forehead to hers, "will you be my date to the wedding?" From behind his back, he produced a single orchid and pressed it into Lexie's hand.

Heart skipping more than a few beats, she gripped the flower and stared at it for a few seconds. Then, smiling brightly, she looped her arms around his neck. "Yes," she replied. "As if you even had to ask." Laughing, he kissed her lips, not caring that she had half-cottonmouth and half-cereal breath.

"I figured you'd like it," he said with a cocky smirk. Lexie melted under his intense gaze. She couldn't lie, she really did like it. No matter how contrived or schmaltzy it was. This was so many things that she didn't think he would be, another part of his unexpected side. She giggled as he kissed her again.

"You know what?"

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed as a smile crinkled at their corners. "I think Derek might have some competition in the romance department someday." Mark's eyes brightened for an instant at the compliment before his expression returned to its trademark arrogant state. This time, she was the one to stand on her tiptoes and lay one on him, bold and open-mouthed.

"I need to take a shower," he mumbled as their lips parted. He gazed into her eyes, heavy and deep. "Are you coming?"

Lexie didn't need to be asked twice. Abandoning her breakfast, she willingly went along as Mark took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. Smirking over his shoulder at her, he turned on the hot water and pulled her shirt over her head before she could blink.

They stepped behind the curtain and he pressed her against the wall, hips squared against the one another's as the water cascaded over their bodies. Lexie giggled as his lips went for her neck.

But it stopped short as that feeling came over her once again. In some way she knew it wasn't hinting at the wedding. No, it was telling her about something else.

Pushing it from her mind once again, she focused on the matter at hand as Mark's palms moved across her breasts. She moaned lightly and buried her head in the crook of his neck.

Whatever it was, it would reveal itself in time. For then, everything was just fine.


	2. Trouble Is a Friend of Mine

One day turned into two, which quickly turned into weeks, and the cause of Lexie's premonitions still had not come to light. Everything was the same as it always was. She and Mark were still going strong, very happy together. Surgeries were still exhilarating and intense. She was still trying to find her place amongst Meredith and her friends.

The only changes on their way were merely hinted at and very distant. First, the intern exam was getting closer every day. The interns, Lexie included, were trying to ignore this fact for as long as they could.

Secondly, Meredith and Derek had managed set a date for the wedding seven months from then. Izzie Stevens, who was on the path to recovery but still indisposed, had thrown herself into planning the celebration. Her hospital room had become wedding central, and she would make Meredith try on dress after dress and taste cake after cake. Meredith had been a good sport about it so far, but seemed to be turning more and more into a deer in the headlights as time went by.

Meredith's initiative in the planning had been to choose her bridesmaids. Lexie was one of the girls to be asked, and, trying not to hyperventilate from the acceptance, she agreed to it. Derek still hadn't asked Mark to be his best man. But Mark was oddly complacent with how things were and stubborn against addressing Derek first, so Lexie wouldn't push anymore. It wasn't worth risking their contentment with one another.

So, the population of Seattle Grace plowed into the future with the long-awaited marriage of Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd in the forefront of their minds. It was hard to go a day without overhearing at least five different pieces of information about it from five different people.

On one of those completely normal mornings at the hospital, Lexie was roaming the halls, looking for some directive on who to find or what to do for the day. A grumpy Cristina Yang had waved her away, claiming that she looked too happy for her that morning. She was on her own, fending for herself in the big bad surgical wing.

Mark Sloan picked the right time to round a corner and almost be plowed over by her. "Whoa," he grunted as she walked into him blindly, trying not to drop the coffees he was carrying in each hand and keeping the chart he was carrying trapped between his arm and body.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Lexie squealed, collecting herself again, before looking up and realizing who it was. "Wait. It's just you." She smiled sweetly as he narrowed his blue eyes at her.

"Just me?" he asked in a jokingly hurt voice. "Just the man who both ravished you this morning after breakfast _and_ brought you coffee?" Smirking, he waved the cup in front of her face and she snatched it from him.

"You enjoyed every minute of it," she said smugly and he didn't disagree. She took a sip of her coffee, indulging in its warmth and caffeine for a moment. After she swallowed, she reached for Mark and gave him a quick kiss. His hands moved down her body from her waist to her hips, and her mind went blank for a few seconds before she broke away with an exclamation.

"Oh!" She pulled away with sudden recollection. "Do you have anything for me to do today?" she asked softly, raising her eyebrows. "Dr. Yang told me to get out of her sight earlier and I haven't gotten any guidance from anyone. It's kind of frightening."

He chuckled at her, shaking his head. "Do you want to be on plastics?" he asked, shrugging.

"Depends on what you mean by _on_ plastics," she replied, grinning mischievously. "And, in response to both meanings, yes please."

Mark laughed, very proud of her use of innuendo. He had been teaching her well. "Good," he said, nodding happily. "I was actually hoping you'd be assigned to my service today. I've got an important surgery scheduled today, a rhinoplasty for an old friend of mine." He pulled the chart out from under his arm and waved it in front of her. Lexie felt her heart soar. Mark wanting her to meet more of his friends was a good sign, definitely a good sign.

"Dr. Sloan," greeted Alex Karev, strolling up to Mark and Lexie, smiling a bit too flatteringly. He had been doing this kind of thing for a while, occupying himself with surgeries to keep his mind off of Izzie's condition. It wasn't that he was not there for her, he just needed a break every so often. "I heard there was a VIP patient here today. Is there any way I can be of service? I haven't been assigned to a case today, and I figured you could use my help."

Mark clicked his tongue, regarding Karev with narrowed eyes. "You're a real suck-up, Karev," he commented. "But, I guess I could use another hand. You're in luck. You picked a good time to come crawling back to plastics, you know."

"Well, actually, sir, I…" He decided against finishing that sentence and swallowed his words. Ignoring his half-uttered statement, Mark thrust the chart into his chest.

"He's in room 2113," Mark instructed. "Make a good impression. I'll be by in a few minutes." With that, Mark gave Lexie a very subtle wink and sauntered away from Alex and Lexie. Alex watched his retreat for a moment before turning to Lexie, his chestnut eyes satisfied. He gestured toward her with the chart.

"Let's go, Grey." He brushed past her and briskly began in the direction of the patient's room. Lexie followed.

------------------------------------------------------------

Alex spoke with authority, in a tough voice he liked to use very much. "Grey, present the case."

"Kevin Flynn, forty," she stated, eyeing the man's chart. "Here for an open rhinoplasty with Dr. Sloan. Flew here from Pittsburgh for the procedure."

The man lying in the bed smirked, an expression that bore a striking resemblance to Mark's arrogant grin. Kevin Flynn had vivid red hair with a few charming gray streaks throughout. His deep blue eyes shone with a devilish glimmer, and his cockeyed grin exposed pearly white teeth with sharp canines. His face was ruggedly handsome, and his strong shoulders showed through the gown he was wearing. Lexie had to admit to herself, he was a very good-looking man.

"She's good," he remarked to Alex in a raspy baritone, nodding toward Lexie. He laughed softly, a low rumble.

"I have all of the information right here," Lexie said quickly, embarrassed from the recognition. She flashed him a tiny meek smile. He grinned at her.

"Well, then, at least we know you can read." Kevin paused. "The fundamentals are the first place to start." Alex snickered from behind his fist and Lexie blushed.

"Dr. Sloan should be here anytime now," Alex told Kevin. "He'll walk you through the procedure, talk about the expected results, and mark your nose. Then you'll be all ready to go."

"Sounds like a damn plan," Kevin said in a strong and pleased voice.

Then, curiosity finally got the better of Lexie. This was an opportunity to learn more about the man who had shaken up her life so much already. Any information she could find about Mark was good information (well, most information was good information; there were some things she just didn't want to know). She closed the chart and addressed Kevin. "Dr. Sloan says you're a friend of his," she said, genuinely interested. "How do you two know each other?"

Kevin's smile changed from a brash one to a bright one. "We're old football buddies, all the way back from high school. We were in the same graduating class," he replied fondly, blue eyes fixing on Lexie. "Partners on and off the field, a perfect team. I was his quarterback, he was my running back."

Alex jumped in on his monologue. Kevin had some kind of magnetic force about him pulling them into him. "An athlete, huh?" he said, trying to sound more cool than eager to make conversation. "Me too. Wrestled my way through high school and college, Iowa." Kevin chuckled.

"Not a football guy? Just wrestling?" Alex nodded, trying to mask confusion. Kevin rolled his eyes in good-natured sarcasm. "You wrestlers sure know how to take one guy. Let me know when you've gotten good at taking on three at once, avoiding that defensive line." He threw his head back and guffawed, and Alex laughed with him, halfheartedly.

Kevin calmed his laughing. "Yeah, we spent a lot of time together on the field. But he didn't follow through with it like I did." His face fell into disappointment for a split second before he moved back into cheerful storytelling. Alex and Lexie glanced at each other, amused. This guy sure could talk. "I was scouted, got a full ride to Pitt, moved there, and played all four years. Fell in love with the city and haven't moved since. You know, there are three things I love most in the world." He counted them on his fingers. "Bridges, football, and beer. And you know what? Pittsburgh's got more of all of those than you can shake a stick at. Oh, and I love women too. But you can find a nice woman anywhere, am I right?" he asked, waggling his fiery eyebrows at Alex. He had to laugh and nod in agreement. Lexie fought the urge to groan as she realized what was going on. Kevin, he was the embodiment of how people saw Mark. Cocky, womanizer, attractive, football star; the stereotypes were all there.

That alone wouldn't have bothered Lexie. There was something else beneath the surface that she felt like she had to squint to see, something else giving off a certain type of wave that was grating on her nerves. Then, he locked eyes with Lexie. Her breath hitched. The feeling from that morning weeks ago came back with a vengeance. The chill rolled through her body. It raised the hair on her arms and she froze.

This man was it. He would be the one to set the chain of events, the first domino in the row. Lexie knew it. Something he would say, something he would do, something he wouldn't do. She stared, half-hearing, as he continued speaking.

"Anyway, he was always smarter than the rest of us, always wanted to become that plastic surgeon. Had his goals, which was a good thing. So I told him one time, when you prove to me that you're the absolute best, I'll let you touch this beautiful face."

"And he proved it to you?" Alex asked.

"That he did," Kevin replied. "I Googled him a few months back to check out his accolades. Impressive stuff. So I called him up and made an appointment to get the old nose here fixed." He tapped his nose with his index finger. For the first time, Lexie noticed the large bump smack dab in the middle of his nose's bridge. Once she saw it, it immediately began to stick out, a stark imperfection against the rest of his face.

Kevin noticed Lexie looking and addressed her. "It's been broken more than a few times. Through a good fight, every single time. I ended up winning them all, of course. Almost all of them were influenced by two of my favorite things," he explained, "beer and women." Alex and Kevin shared a short laugh before they were interrupted.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here he is, the incomparable Spartan quarterback: number sixteen, Kevin 'Flyguy' Flynn!" Mark's mock announcement reverberated throughout the room as he strode confidently inside, a huge grin adorning his face. Kevin flexed his biceps, opened his mouth, and exhaled, making the noise of a roaring crowd.

"_Horns_!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, eyes sparkling with happiness under the raw fluorescent light of the hospital room. Mark laughed, shaking his head at his old nickname, and grasped Kevin's outstretched hand in an eager handshake. Even though she was quite concerned, Lexie couldn't help but smile when she saw how excited Mark was to see his friend.

"Have these two been taking good care of you?" Mark asked Kevin, his smile spreading from ear to ear. "Let me know if I need to lay down the law later."

Kevin's grin matched Mark's when he said, "No, they're great. Especially the girl." He elbowed Mark and Mark's eyes widened for an instant. He caught Lexie's gaze, and she gave him a sheepish smile and a small shrug.

"Good," he continued after a moment, returning his focus to his old friend, "because this is the resident and the intern on your case, Dr. Karev and Dr. Grey. They're going to tell you all about your procedure. Go ahead, Karev, how's this thing going to happen?"

Alex cleared his throat and dove into the explanation, practiced and secure. "You'll be under general anesthesia for the surgery. Dr. Sloan will begin by making incisions on the inside of the nose and in the shape of an inverted V on the middle column of tissue called the columnella. That's the tissue that separates the nostrils, The skin will be loosened from the tissue and pulled away from the cartilage and bone. Then-"

Mark stopped him and nodded. "Very nice. Finish it off, Grey."

Lexie continued Alex's statement without a hitch. "Then, to remove the nasal hump, Dr. Sloan will cut pieces of bone and cartilage from the bridge and use an instrument called a rasp to file down bone in the bridge's upper portion."

"Good, Dr. Grey," Mark said a bit more tenderly, trying to do it without it being obvious, mouth turning up at the corners involuntarily. Even after all the years, Kevin recognized this behavior immediately. He had seen it countless times from Mark, and was extremely perceptive of it. Mark liked this girl and, judging from his coolness, had probably already had her. Self-satisfied, Kevin kept his mouth shut.

Mark wheeled the computer over so that the monitor was close enough for Kevin to see. He made a few keystrokes and a three-dimensional rendition of Kevin's face appeared on the screen. The bump on his nose was unsightly against the otherwise handsome face.

"We hope that if the surgery is successful, you'll look like this post-op." He pressed another key and the image transformed and the bump gradually melted into the shape of his normal nose. Kevin's face brightened considerably at the new picture.

"Looks damn good, Horns," he commented thankfully.

"Excuse me for asking," Alex said, sliding into the conversation, "but, Dr. Sloan, is Horns an old football nickname? Were you a bull on the field?" He smiled and Lexie turned away and shook her head. Suck-up.

"You know it!" Kevin answered before Mark could speak. He reached up and slapped Mark on the back, and Mark grunted. "It was a twofold nickname, see. This guy here was both the lightest running back in the division _and_…" He paused for effect, plastering a seedy grin on his face. "The horniest kid on the team!"

Mark blushed and Kevin punched him playfully in the arm. "When the two of us were freshman, Horns here got laid more than the seniors. The ladies loved him. He was a legend!"

Mark locked eyes with Lexie and winced, a silent apology. Kevin went on. "I'm sure you've upheld your reputation well over the years, Mark." His voice dropped a few decibels so that Alex and Lexie could just barely hear him. "You know, with all of these hot women here. God, I'd really love to take a few of those nurses on."

"Three at once?" Alex added snidely from the corner of his mouth. Lexie snorted and quickly moved her hand to her mouth to stifle the giggles that were threatening to come out. Although Mark was honestly annoyed with Kevin's unnecessary disclosure of these high school tales, he gave Alex a pointed look.

"You two, go and make sure everything's set with the OR. This is happening as soon as possible," he instructed. He loved Kevin, that was for sure. But he wanted him to be gone as soon as he could be, also. Mark didn't need him to sour anything he had worked so hard to build with Lexie. Kevin was a part of Mark's past and wouldn't understand his present. He wouldn't know any of the hurdles he had to jump or the differences he had made in his personality. If he did, he wouldn't be very supportive of them.

"Yes, sir." Alex did as he was told and stepped out the door. Lexie turned to leave as well, about to leave Mark with Kevin.

But she did so only after shooting one final anxious look over her shoulder at the two men in the room: Mark, the one who had unexpectedly changed so much, and Kevin Flynn, the one who was somehow about to change everything again.


	3. Been a Sinner, Been a Scamp

**A/N: I've neglected to mention this here, but every chapter of this story is based on a song. At my LiveJournal, I have provided a free (!) download link for the songs that each chapter is based on. If you're interested, my LJ is my website listed on my author page. If that doesn't show up, feel free to PM me and I'll provide you with a link.**

After Alex and Lexie had made their way out of the room, Mark pulled a chair up to Kevin's bedside, prompted him to sit up, and plucked a marker from his lab coat pocket. "I'm going to mark the incision sites," he told Kevin in a flat voice that carried with it a phantom of irritation.

"Whatever you gotta do, doc," he replied with a nod of his head, snickering as he addressed Mark by his title. Mark uncapped the marker and drew with expertise a tiny line that extended diagonally from Kevin's left nostril to the tip of his nose. Kevin grimaced. "That thing smells like shit."

"Don't move," warned Mark, moving on to his other nostril, "or else it's going straight up your nose and that will be much worse." He made another practiced line while Kevin held his breath. When he was finished, Mark stood and examined his handiwork. After he deemed it satisfactory, he palpated Kevin's nose in a final check.

Kevin studied Mark's face closely. It was tense, nearing anger, eyebrows drawn together and mouth taut. It was the definition of tough restraint, the expression he had seen him wearing when they lost the state semi-final game during their junior year. Kevin suddenly felt very uneasy. "Hey." He spoke as if he was walking on eggshells. "Are things awkward right now?"

Mark didn't make eye contact. "No." He picked up Kevin's chart and pretended to look at it.

_Convincing_, Kevin thought, arching an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Did I say something wrong or-"

"No." Mark scribbled something in the chart. They let the edgy conversation fall into silence for a moment. Kevin was the one to speak first, reaching for anything to break the unfamiliar ice.

"So," he began as he sat back in the bed, wishing somewhere that he had a mirror to check out the marks on his nose, "how's Darren? Still playing that saxophone?"

Mark resisted the urge to sigh huffily. He never did like how Kevin treated Derek. Deep down, he knew that Kevin was just jealous that he was never as close to Mark as Derek was. Still, it irked the hell out of him when Kevin would say something like that. He answered, trying to keep calm.

"_Derek_ is one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, raking in two million a year." Mark paused, pursing his lips. Kevin smiled sheepishly. "He was married to an incredibly hot woman and is now engaged to another incredibly hot woman. He's living the good life now. He's here today, if you want to see him and say hi or something."

Kevin closed his eyes and shook his head, putting up his hands in a halting gesture. He never really talked to the guy, a standard in his relations with band kids. "I'm good," he said. But he couldn't resist getting one last dig in. "But, Horns, tell me this. Did the kid ever grow into his ears?"

Despite everything, Mark had to laugh at that one. No matter how close he and Derek were, his pubescent ears were simply and undeniably hilarious. "Yeah," he answered with a smile like one from the old days. "Took a while, but he definitely did." They shared a chuckle. Kevin relaxed. He felt comfortable enough to strike up another conversation. Mark wasn't going to bite his head off. With relief, he went on, bringing up the same topic he would have years ago. He gave in to impulse and asked the question that had been nagging at him for the past few minutes.

"So, Mark." He was already struggling to keep his expression casual. "Are you after sleeping with that intern? Grey, was it?"

Mark's eyes grew huge and he coughed loudly into his fist. He shouldn't have been surprised by Kevin's forward interrogation, but he was. Kevin sneered at him – oh, the thrill of discovery – and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes!" he exclaimed triumphantly, sapphire eyes gleaming with amusement. "Christ, how old is she? Like, twenty?" He didn't give Mark a chance to actually answer. "Horns, you cradlerobbin' son of a bitch!" He laughed a bit too hard at himself and Mark glowered.

Kevin sighed as he came down, unaffected by Mark's glare. "She a nice ride?" he asked with some kind of sick and genuine interest. In his gut, Mark felt a threatening stir of rage. "She's not my type, personally, a little too lanky for my taste. I like mine smaller, y'know that already. But the face on that one, those eyes! Jesus, man, does it only take her to look at you like that before you're stiff as a-"

"Enough," Mark interrupted him in a firm voice, scowling. It didn't matter whether or not what Kevin said was true; he didn't want or need to hear him refer to Lexie's sexy eyes. Kevin ran a hand through his ruddy hair, realizing that he had done something wrong.

"Sorry," he apologized. "She's all yours, fair play to you. I didn't mean it, but I couldn't help but notice that she's an attractive girl." Suddenly, a notion dawned on him and he couldn't muster the strength in enough time to hold it in. He blurted his bright idea with wide awe-filled eyes. "Hey, we should double-team her!"

Mark gawked at him, embarrassed and furious at the thought of it. Kevin just kept saying all the wrong things. Kevin waited expectantly for a response and Mark gave him the only word his lips could form, "No."

"Aw, come on! That was always the dream! You and me plus a girl we both thought was smoking, Horns, tell me you haven't forgotten this already."

"Okay, first of all, when I have a threesome it's with two women. Second of all, _no_."

"Yeah, well." Kevin's eyes fell to his lap before he grinned. He raised his eyes to Mark's and they narrowed playfully. "Have you given her any multiples yet? Seriously, that trick you taught me way back when is still pure genius today. Buck your hips at the right moment and she's a goner," he re-explained the technique to Mark, coupling it with a physical demonstration and a dirty laugh. Mark cringed.

Even though the answer to Kevin's question was a big fat yes, he wasn't about to give him the liberty of knowing. In the old days, Mark would have been more than willing to divulge every bit of information about the fun he would have with any woman. This reluctance showed how much he had changed, a fact that Mark was both proud of and afraid of. He sighed, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. He had changed. He had to let Kevin know sooner or later.

"Look, Kevin," said Mark softly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah, I've been with her. With Lexie. But, see, it's not just the sex. It was at first but now it isn't. We're in a real relationship, Kev, we're trying. She's a nice girl and she's…she's been good for me."

Kevin stared at him for a moment before his eyes widened in exaggerated horror. "Whoa, no. No, no, no," he babbled, shaking his head violently. "You're just talking nonsense now."

Mark had been expecting a reaction akin to that. He shrugged. "You know what, I'm happy. It's different, but I'm happy."

Kevin furrowed his brow and regarded Mark with disbelieving disdain. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and said, "Mark Sloan is _not_ happy with one woman. Not the Mark Sloan I know, anyway."

"I am. And I still am the Mark Sloan you know."

"Bullshit." Kevin gave him a hard look and crossed his arms over his chest. He hadn't wanted to bring this up, but he had no choice but to. "You really are different. I noticed it as soon as you walked in here. You're not yourself anymore."

"No, that's the real bullshit." Mark's eyes flashed.

"What happened to the promise we made on the roof of Will Sheen's house at that party the night before we graduated?" asked Kevin in a half-hurt, half-heated tone.

"We were piss-drunk at the time, you fell off right after, remember?" Mark countered, matching Kevin's body language. "Anything that seemed profound to us at the time was probably gibberish."

"Still. We said that things wouldn't change. We told each other that things were perfect the way they stood." Kevin rolled his eyes with a loud sigh. "And now one girl's come along to erase all of that? Has she saved you from the fiery pits of Hell or something? Swept you away from eternal damnation? Really? It's not right, man, it's not right for you."

There was so much Mark could have said to Kevin then. He could have said that it was completely untrue that Lexie had swooped in to single-handedly save him from himself. She had done a lot, but she hadn't been the one to completely reshape him. He could have told Kevin about Addison and the shit and revolutions that whole thing had caused. He could have told him about the move to Seattle and the fight with Derek and how that forced him to become somebody else. But, for the sake of saving face and to keep from starting a fight, he kept his mouth shut.

"I think I'm done here," he said gravely, straightening his coat. "I'll see you in surgery."

"How much of yourself are you willing to compromise for her?" Kevin asked before he could leave. Mark froze, keeping his back turned. "I'll tell you how much my Mark would: not much at all. One day, you're gonna see that. And you're gonna hurt her. Guys like us don't do well with monogamy. It's going to end up being a disaster."

Without another word, Mark left.

It would have been a lot to say that, at that moment, he hated Kevin. He couldn't help himself, though. Hate was a strong word. But the feeling in Mark's gut was strong as well.

--------------------------------------------

In the meantime, Alex and Lexie had found that the OR was ready to go. They parted ways; he went to see Izzie – she was in low spirits after undergoing aggressive IL2 treatment - for whatever time they had before the surgery began, and she headed to the nurses' station to check a voicemail that had appeared on her phone sometime earlier that morning.

It was from Molly. She leaned against the counter, the phone pressed to one ear and sticking a finger into the other even though it wasn't really that loud in the hallway. She subconsciously needed to concentrate on the message. Voicemails were the only fragments of her little sister's existence those days. So, she listened intently as Molly spoke.

Molly was speaking excitedly about how Laura was getting so big and that she was almost walking, about how Eric was going to be coming home soon but she didn't know for how long, about how lovely Connecticut was, about how much she missed Lexie, how much she wished Lexie could come and visit soon.

She ended the message much like she did every time, "_Everyone loves you, Lex, and wishes you good luck. We miss you._" As usual, there was never any mention of Thatcher.

Lexie ended the call with a sigh. She loved Molly too, that was undisputable. But Molly didn't seem to understand that Lexie was living her own life, too. There was always a hint of longing in Molly's voice during her sign-off, like she just wanted Lexie to drop what she was doing, pack her things, and get on the first flight to Connecticut. With every phone call, her voice became more and more disappointed. But Lexie had her own affairs to worry about. She was too happy with the way things were going for her to dwell on the past.

Also, the dark shadow of the Thatcher situation still loomed over their relationship. Lexie didn't even want to think about that then.

But she still felt guilty about the non-contact with Molly. Come to think about it, Molly didn't even know about Mark. It sent a roll of shame over Lexie when she realized that she hadn't disclosed a very important of her life to her sister, the one person she would have shared it in detail with before.

The feeling of human heat against her side tore her from her thoughts. She looked up and wasn't surprised to see that it was Mark. He had a way of showing up right when she was thinking something deep about him.

"Is the OR set?" He looked like he was fuming. His eyes were pointed and glowing, but not in the same way they were when he laughed or when he was coming down from a particularly good romp in bed. Lexie looked at him, confused.

"Yes." She nodded, retaining the perplexed expression. "Is everything alright?" she asked, concerned, touching his arm. He rested his hand on top of hers, allowing himself to enjoy the contact for a moment.

"Everything's fine," he lied. He couldn't tell her about the falling out he just had with Kevin. She was already giving herself an ulcer over his feud with Derek. Another fight would make it start to bleed. So, he faked a smile and she bought it.

"So, um." She bit her lip. "Kevin seems like a…nice guy. You two must have had some good times together."

"We did."

"That's good." She took a deep breath, steadying herself in order to get the next set of words out. They had the potential to make things so much better or so much worse. "You know, I'd like to hear about your days as a football star. If you were as good at playing football as you are at, um, other things, I'm sure there you've got a lot to tell."

Without replying, he grinned; a real one this time, no faking required. He leaned over and kissed her lips, lacing his fingers through hers. It was a normal kiss: mostly chaste with just a little bit of tongue. There was nothing different about it from the countless others they had shared. Still, a feeling flashed through Lexie. She had this foreboding that it would be the last one for a long time and that she should remember it. So she squeezed his hand, pressing into him, drinking the kiss in greedily. She kissed him until the feeling passed. She finally broke away from him when the hollow feeling in her stomach was gone and everything was normal again.

He chuckled, barely a low rumble, and smirked at her. "Dr. Grey," he said in that way that made her feel like she was on fire. She couldn't help but giggle childishly, a blush creeping up to her cheeks. "I'll see you in surgery," he whispered against her ear and she leaned into him.

Then, heart hammering, she nodded with a shy smile and walked away. As her feet hit the tile flooring in rhythm with her heartbeat, she gently touched her lips. She was confused. There was no way that feeling could have been right, no way was that their last kiss. His goodbye didn't suggest that at all.

Feeling a bit better about himself and his decision, Mark drummed his fingertips on the counter and yawned loudly. When he opened his eyes, Derek was standing next to him, perusing a patient's chart. He licked his lips nervously, wanting to address Derek but not knowing how to do it. It used to come so easily, a joking word and a slap on the back. Now, he had to be gingerly about it. It was unnatural and he didn't like it one bit.

He finally settled on saying, "Kevin Flynn is here."

Derek didn't look up from his chart. "Oh?" He made no attempt at continuing the conversation, and Mark sighed.

"You were right for all those years, he's kind of an ass."

"How come?" It was better than nothing.

"He said some stupid stuff," Mark replied, eager to talk with Derek. "I think he meant it, too. I hate to be angry at him, but I am."

Derek glanced at him for a fraction of a second before flipping the chart closed, a very resolute gesture. "It's hard, isn't it? To be angry at a friend who just won't apologize?"

As Derek walked away, Mark called after him. "Come on, Derek!" He swore to himself when Derek didn't even acknowledge that he had heard him.

-------------------------------------------------------

Kevin licked his lips as his eyes wandered her curves. Breasts, waist, hips, ass, not bad at all. This nurse was a cute nurse, no doubt about that. He remembered she had mentioned her name was Olivia or something like that. Olivia was definitely cute.

His conscience was coming back to haunt him again. Obviously, he had struck a nerve with Mark. He definitely had changed, and Kevin didn't like it. Still, if he really was happy, he had to support him. They were friends, after all, through and through.

"Do you have any final questions before your procedure, Mr. Flynn?" Olivia asked, smiling sweetly. Damn, she was good. They would look attractive together, identical coloring and all. A good Irish-looking couple. She was smaller, too, which he really _really _liked. Kevin smirked.

"Call me Kevin, and I do have a question for you." He locked eyes with her and he saw the air flee her chest. He was good, too. "Miss Olivia, have you ever been with Dr. Sloan?"

Even though he knew she wouldn't answer, the truth was obvious. She blushed intensely; the curse of the Irish, always having people know when she was embarrassed or hot or angry. Her eyes widened and pupils dilated. The one corner of his mouth pulled up until it couldn't anymore.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Flynn, I won't answer that," she stammered, averting her gaze and digging her teeth into her bottom lip. A definite yes.

"It's inappropriate, I know. I'm the one who should be sorry. Thanks for all you've done, doll." He smiled and she made a beeline for the door, obviously flustered.

He would apologize to Mark. He would apologize and everything would be perfectly fine. Their fights always resolved themselves. Eventually, everything always ended up being right as rain. This would be no exception.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Mark held out his hands for a scrub nurse who slid a glove onto each. Another placed a smock over his scrubs and tied it behind his back. It was the same routine he had begun every surgery with since he could remember. It was second-nature to him now, something that just always happened. The beeping of the heart monitor was steady and regular, a sound he had become desensitized to over the years. He only noticed it when there was a problem anymore.

He stepped into the OR and regarded his team. Karev, a new anesthesiologist, a few scrub nurses, and Lexie. She was smiling at him beneath her mask; he could tell from the way her eyes were crinkled at the corners. He let one cross his face as well.

"Are we ready to go?" he questioned.

"Mr. Flynn wanted to talk to you first," the anesthesiologist replied.

"Hi," Kevin said with a grin, rolling his eyes to the side to look at Mark, not shifting his position on the table. "You know, you look good from this angle."

"What's up?" Mark prompted, ignoring the flattery.

"I just wanted to apologize," Kevin told him. Lexie's ears perked up, suddenly wondering if there was actually something wrong. "I was out of line. Whatever makes you happy is good by me, Horns. I wanted to clear the air before this shindig starts, just in case things don't go well." He laughed nervously at the macabre thought.

"Don't start that," Mark instructed firmly. "It will be fine." He didn't want to let Kevin go with just that apology. He really crossed the line. So he didn't absolve him.

"I know, I trust you. But just in case." Mark gave the signal for the anesthesiologist to administer the anesthesia, and Kevin's eyes fluttered closed, the grin melting from his face.

Mark would consider accepting his apology when all this was over. Now was the time for a rhinoplasty.

He took his place next to the table and cracked his neck. Lexie watched him carefully and Alex tapped his foot impatiently. "It's a beautiful day to give this guy a new nose," said Mark ceremoniously, something he had picked up from Derek a while ago. "Let's have some fun."

Mark should have seen it coming: the heart monitor, the one attached to his great friend, hiccupped before it began to beep in a frenzied alarm.


	4. Turning Black Tables

**Here's where it all falls apart. I want to ask everyone to stick with me and don't go running for the hills. I promise, this isn't it. This isn't all that's in store.  
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For a fraction of a second, the surgeons standing over Kevin Flynn's body froze. In that instant, the monitor's strident wailing faded into the back of Mark's mind as if it was coming from somewhere deep underwater. Along with the rapid beeping, a voice entered his head, tiny but powerful and the most haunting thing he had ever heard.

It was fate: someone who had it out for him.

"Hope you enjoy this one," it said.

Then, with that, all of the doctors jumped into action, driven by the clamor of the heart monitor like some kind of tribal drum. "Talk to me, people," Mark instructed, his voice taking on an authoritative sense of urgency. "What's going on?"

"BP's at fifty-seven over twenty," Lexie reported, pushing the fear for Mark's friend's life away, eyes fixed on the monitor.

"His temp's rising. Fast," Alex added, wearing a grim expression beneath his mask. "Muscles are rigid, too."

"Malignant hyperthermia." Mark shook his head, sighing gruffly, the pounding in his chest failing to calm. "Okay, take him off; dantrolene, everyone," he barked. With expertise gained from countless drills, Alex, Lexie, the anesthesiologist, and a few scrub nurses immediately headed for the station that held several tiny vials of the drug and began drawing it up into syringes. Mark exhaled through his nose, tapping his foot nervously and commanding for another nurse to start him on pure oxygen.

They were poised to inject it when the monitor's harsh beeping picked up a new irregular and quick rhythm. "He's in V-tach," Lexie said. They quickly pushed the drug and hurried back to their positions.

"This is not good, it's moving too fast," Alex commented aside to her; she barely heard him. She was too busy focusing on Mark and the hardly-hidden panic written on his face. It was new and something she now wished she'd never seen. This was it, she thought. This was the catalyst. It terrified her.

"Damn it, paddles!" Mark demanded, grabbing them from the nurse. "Charge to three-hundred."

"Three-hundred."

"Clear." Everyone removed their hands from Kevin's body before Mark pressed the paddles to his chest. The electric shock caused his top half to jump with a dull _wump _sound. There was no change in his heart rhythm. Mark grimaced. "Charge again."

"Charging."

"Clear." The same movement, the same electric noise. This time, there was a change - not the one the doctors were looking for.

The beeping stopped and was replaced by a long, unceasing wail, the horrifying and grating note of a flatline. Lexie tried not to gasp as Mark tried to swallow but there was nothing there. "Asystole," said Alex, bluntly.

Automatically, Mark began compressions on Kevin's chest, keeping his eyes away from his friend's eerily peaceful face. This couldn't happen, not now. Not after what he said, what he meant with the words. His skin tingled and burned as he continued trying to revive Kevin. Once again, the drone of the heart monitor and the buzzing whispers and orders coming from the people around him dissipated into nothingness and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. He knew he was doing compressions more than adequately but he could hardly feel it, as if his arms were phantom limbs.

He had never been so terrified in surgery in his life. It was his friend's life on the line, a friend he had literally just fought with, and he didn't want to think of what the repercussions might but he couldn't help it.

Kevin had a very real chance at dying.

With that thought driving him, he could not stop compressions. His eyes were glued to the monitor, preoccupied with compressing Kevin's chest to keep him technically alive for as long as possible. "There's no change," Alex noted.

This fact sunk in and Mark grunted angrily. "I'm opening him up; scalpel," he declared in a short voice, holding out his hand.

"You're going to crack his chest?" Lexie asked softly, wide-eyed, having stepped back slightly from the table.

"Internal cardiac massage," Mark confirmed, creating a fast incision down Kevin's chest. It was always said to be the last resort, and a cold sweat suddenly broke out on his forehead. It didn't make sense at all, Kevin needing the last resort when all he came in for was a rhinoplasty.

"Open-heart?" Alex asked as if it wasn't a dumb question. "Do you want me to get-"

"Do you think I'm stupid, Karev? Incapable?" Mark snapped, eyes flashing, casting the scalpel aside and moving his hands to the front of Kevin's ribcage. "There's no time to get anyone else, he needs it now."

He took the saw and broke Kevin's sternum open and, for the first time, the sickening crack made Lexie cringe. It probably would have done the same to Mark if he wasn't so deafly focused and intent on bringing his friend back. His gloved hands dove into Kevin's chest cavity, and he cradled the motionless heart in his hand. Pushing the feelings of dread and panic at the fact that he was actually physically touching his friend's heart down and out of the way, he began compressing it directly. He could feel the heat of it – god, it was still hot – through the thin material of his glove. For an instant, it made him sick to his stomach.

He continued massaging Kevin's heart for a few desperate moments, and the rest of the O.R. staff watched him with bated breath and hammering pulses. Their gazes flickered between him, Kevin's open chest, and the heart monitor. Lexie's eyes lingered on Mark the longest, watching, distraught, his expression of distressed concentration. The pain reflected in them, being revealed little by little, was all but tearing her own chest apart.

It was only a short time later when every doctor in the O.R., except Mark, realized that his attempts were futile. The feeling of losing a patient was heavy in their chests, but none of them wanted to make Mark stop. His face was steel, unchanging, lines having formed on his forehead. His hand was still deep in Kevin's chest, still moving in a useless attempt to resuscitate him. Kevin was just too far gone now.

Alex finally worked up the courage and said, gently, "Dr. Sloan." Mark didn't respond; he kept going, watching the monitor for any tiny glimmer of a reaction. There was none. "Dr. Sloan!" he called more forcefully and Mark's eyes snapped to him, wide and crazed above his mask. He stopped the cardiac massage, and the asystole persisted – a piercing, angry, yellow note.

"There's still no change," Alex told him, shaking his head softly. Mark's breathing became very shallow, then; the tiny puffs of air he was taking did nothing to settle the sudden burning in his lungs. It felt like somebody was jabbing their fist into his side, punching, punching, punching, and the tearing ache moved like a shockwave through his whole body.

He scanned his team, and most of them averted their eyes to look at the floor or at their hands. The last one in the row – Lexie – did not. She held his gaze, hazel eyes morphing into the saddest, most sympathetic expression he had ever seen. It was the first time he realized what had to be done; what little breath he had left fled. Lexie squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, exhaling forcefully through her nose.

The world moved too slowly as he looked at Kevin's face. He saw his friend; saw the eyes that would never again shine during the telling of a dirty joke, the eyebrows that would never again rise to check out a woman, the mouth that would never grin lecherously or call him by his nickname ever again. Mark would never hear another one of his recounts of an escape from a one-night stand. He would never be able to join him in reveling in a memory from football camp again.

So much that he had taken for granted had fled in a matter of seven minutes.

He felt sick again.

There was blood all over his gloves, Kevin's blood, and he needed to take them off. His right hand twitched. Somehow, he summoned the strength and air to speak. "Someone call it." It was dark and grave, accompanied by a pained stare. Nobody responded. They could only stare back at him, speechless. His jaw tightened. "Damn it, somebody call it." His voice cracked but he recovered quickly.

The silence was a heavy blanket over the group of surgeons. Alex obeyed, barely above a whisper. "Time of death, thirteen thirty-eight."

With that, Mark turned on his heel and tore out of the O.R., tearing off his gloves, smock, and mask as he went. After hardly a second, Lexie followed him, breaking away from the throng that was still gathered solemnly around the operating table. Nobody even gave her a second look.

She scrubbed out and caught up with Mark as he was about to storm out of the O.R. hallway, having quickly scrubbed out in a desperate need to get away from that room as quickly as possible. She whispered his name and reached for his hand, but he jerked it away. "Mark," she said, again, voice laden with sad empathy. She tried again at getting his hand and succeeded, forcing him to stop. When he turned, his face showed so much raw hurt that it shocked her into a second of blank speechlessness.

She recovered before he could break away. She held his face in her hands, even though he tried to pull away, and kissed him – small, chaste, repetitive kisses that he did not return – and stroked his cheeks tenderly. "Oh, Mark," she murmured croakily, feeling his whole body tense against the contact. Tears began to prick at her eyes and she tried to ignore them. She hurt for him, so much. "Tell me what I can do." She kissed him again, and he tried to lean away, unwilling. "Please, Mark, tell me what I can do to help you," she begged, on the verge of desperation.

When she tried to press her lips to him again he recoiled for good, pushing her away by the shoulders. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened at him. He spoke as if he really did not want to. "I just need…" he said in a thick voice, refraining from making eye contact. "I need you to leave me alone for now." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I need to be away from here, this room, everything." He put his hand over his eyes, biting his lower lip in frustration. "Please. I just want to be alone."

He didn't wait for an answer before he slipped out of her grip and away from her. She watched as he walked into the hallway, trailing him but not too closely, and saw him quickly duck into an on-call room. He closed the door behind him.

The definitive click of the lock was impossibly loud. It was the worst noise she had heard yet.

-----------------------------------------------

Mark did not know how much time passed while he was sitting in the on-call room. It could have been minutes, hours, or even an entire shift. But the concept of time did not matter to him as he sat on the bed, staring at the wall. The lights were on, dim and bare. He could see the imperfections and scuff marks on its white surface. He tried to keep the lights off when he first came into the room, but when he just kept seeing Kevin's face in the darkness, he turned them on.

He had been sitting for so long in the same position – slouched, hands resting in his lap - that he couldn't feel his body anymore. He felt weightless, like everything that happened was just a dream that he would wake up from in a matter of time. His pupils were fixed on a single spot, unmoving, hardly even blinking. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing.

Even though his body had gone numb, he could not stop feeling. His mind was the only part of him that seemed to be working, and working overtime. Kevin was still there, in his head. His was a presence that would not be erased, regardless of the amount of time passed. There were too many good times, too many happy memories for him to be forgotten. Even the bad times didn't seem so bad now.

But Kevin did not exist in the real world anymore. How that could happen, could actually _be_, baffled Mark. It didn't make one bit of sense. And the fact that his life had been in Mark's hands, his teammate's hands? He let Kevin die. He let Kevin down. He couldn't even think about it.

Especially now, today. Especially because he had convinced himself that he hated Kevin.

He took a spastic breath and he pain that accompanied it told him that he hadn't taken one for a while.

Hated him. And now, he was gone. A bitter taste entered Mark's mouth, and he couldn't bring himself to swallow it away.

He didn't turn to look when somebody entered the room, he was frozen in place. The only reason he knew that someone had come in was the very brief leak of brighter hallway light into the small room. Whoever it was shut the door behind them. His skin crawled at the human presence as they took a few tentative steps toward him.

It was probably Lexie, he thought. He felt horrible for it, but he still wasn't ready to face her. Or anyone, for that matter. He didn't want anyone's pity.

But then, the person spoke. "Mark." The voice was feminine, for sure. "God, Mark, I'm so sorry." But it wasn't the bubbly mezzo he had been expecting - it was a melodic alto, another that he was familiar with.

It was Callie. He didn't have to look to know that it was her, so he didn't. Even though he didn't want to move his eyes, she could still see him. And, at a single glance, her heart broke for her friend. His face was pale, and it looked like he hadn't slept in a week, even though he had been awake for less than twelve hours.

Word had already traveled like wildfire around the hospital, and the autopsy had been done not long ago. She had expected Lexie to be in the room, comforting him. So, when Callie passed a frightened-looking Lexie in the hallway not long ago, she had been very confused. Even if he didn't want it, Lexie should have been there for him. If Lexie wasn't, Callie decided, she was. She was his good friend, after all.

Mark sighed huffily and looked like he was about to tell her to get out, so Callie cut him off. "Karev told me the results of the autopsy. He couldn't find you or Lexie, so he asked me to deliver the news." Mark's jaw clenched visibly and she knew that she was headed into sensitive territory, but she also knew that he had to hear this. She sat down beside him, and he edged away from her.

"Callie," he warned, his voice a gravelly rumble from a long period of inactivity. She held up a hand to quiet his protest. He set his jaw and went back to glowering at the wall. Callie regarded him with a soft, sympathetic pout.

"You had no way of knowing about his condition," she offered gently. Mark wished he could go voluntarily deaf. He did not want to hear this, to be reminded. "It was nothing you did, Mark. It wasn't your fault at all." Her tone was reassuring, but Mark wasn't buying it. Callie shook her head. She needed to get this through to him. She was frustrated, since she usually knew the right things to say to him. About this, though, she was at a loss. What could she possibly say to him in this situation?

The truth.

"No matter what you did, he couldn't have come back from the MH." She lowered her eyes, hating to be the bearer of heartbreaking news. "He had the beginnings of heart disease, Mark. Badly. His heart was weak, even though he seemed strong. Really weak."

Mark swallowed. He should have guessed. Kevin must have taken up smoking, why didn't he see that? He should have tested him more, or something. But, no, since Kevin was his friend, he cleared him. Mark felt like an idiot, a careless fool.

"That's why everything happened so quickly," Callie told him, placing a hand on Mark's shoulder. He shrank beneath it, still refusing to look at her. "You had no control over that. But you did everything you could. Everything you could." She punctuated the last three words. "And I think he would have appreciated it, Mark. Even though you couldn't save him."

Mark said nothing. He just kept staring at the wall. Callie tried not to laugh in amazement. "God, if it was me in your situation, I wouldn't even be able to function." She realized that was probably the opposite of comforting. More compassionately, then. "You're allowed to say something, or cry, Mark. Frankly, it's scaring me that you're _not_. So, go ahead."

She waited. He remained stubbornly silent. "Come on," she prodded. "Go ahead."

Something inside of him shifted – a move from depressed brooding to anger. His face tingled with heat and he clenched his fists. He finally turned to look at Callie, with glaring eyes and "get out" poised on his lips.

But, then, he saw her. He saw Callie.

Another shift came on just as quickly as the one before. This time, from anger to incredulity. He took in kind, sparkling brown eyes, full lips, flowing dark hair, and bronze skin. He stared at her, failing to stop his mouth from falling open.

She was there for him. Nobody else, not Lexie. Her. She was there, sitting with him in the on-call room. A pillar of strength, however much unwanted.

And she was _beautiful_. Not just hot or sexy, like he had always revered her as before. His skin felt like it was in flames.

Was it there for the first time, or was it just the first time he had seen it? Something he hadn't noticed, beneath the surface. Had he just been missing it for all this time? Had he been missing her for all this time? He felt himself breathing. The answer seemed to be so obvious in his mind, no matter how muddled.

Callie nervously raised a dark eyebrow at the sudden darkened look in his eye. Somehow, it wasn't him anymore. They were intent on her, yet slightly unfocused at the same time. "Mark?" she uttered, confused, instinctively leaning away from his heavy gaze.

She had been there for him, by him, through everything. Now was no different. It amazed him. How could he have missed it? Callie was always there. It was her, all along. His system was flooded by a mixture of emotions, confusion and awe and pain and disbelief. He moved on impulse, barely in control of his actions.

"Callie," he whispered, drawing out her name on a breath. He shifted to face her more properly, cupping one of her cheeks in his hand. His fingertips entwined in her dark wavy locks. Callie's breath hitched. Their faces were close together, close enough for her to see the specks of dark blue dispersed throughout the lighter color of his iris. She could see that he was unhinged, suddenly delirious. He was about to make a bad decision.

No sooner had that revelation hit her than he was kissing her.

Callie shut her lips tightly against his advance, trying to squirm out of his grip. He was relentless, though, leaning forward to make up for the distance that she moved away. She managed to stop him by holding his face and firmly prying him off of her. "Mark," she said, raising her eyebrows at him, eyes frantic, laughing even though nothing was even close to funny, "you really don't want to do this. I know you're hurting, but still, what about Lexie, Mark, or what about Arizona? We can't do this." She shook her head, keeping her deep brown eyes locked on his blue ones. His were red-rimmed and wan, about to give in. The feelings had caught up to him.

"Please, Callie," he croaked after a lingering silence. "Please." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I need this."

What Callie saw when she looked at Mark, then, amazed her just as much as what he had seen looking at her. He was broken. He wasn't the man she knew. He had been trying so hard not to break down, but here he was, doing it in front of her. And if she refused him this, it could break him even more.

She was treading in dangerous waters, walking on a tightrope line. Fall one way, devastate Mark and maybe lose him forever. Fall the other way, betray Arizona and maybe lose her forever. She bit her lip and tried not to be distracted by Mark's pained expression as she thought it out as coherently as she could. Frustration overcame her again; in the past, the decision would have been so much easier. Everything had changed who she was.

Arizona was wonderful. Callie wanted to be with her, wanted the relationship they were in. But, Mark was Mark. Mark was her best friend. She couldn't possibly do anything to hurt him. Two separate parts of her were going in two different directions, tearing her apart.

But she knew what she had to do.

When she very reluctantly closed her eyes and let him continue to kiss her, she was mostly feeling guilty. But, then again, it wasn't the first time this had happened. She shuddered at the thought of it. For a second or two, she hated how familiar Mark's tongue felt inside of her mouth as he slowly opened his mouth against hers.

Mark didn't know what he was feeling. Pain, torture, or a desperate need for release might have described it. He was in a place where guilt did not exist, a dark corner where no light of reason was reaching. He thought he wanted this, thought he needed it.

He pulled his scrub shirt over his head, then, and Callie had half a mind to stop him. But, she didn't. This was how he coped, she had seen it before. It scared her, but she couldn't stop it now. His hands fell to her shirt, and she let him remove it before his lips were on hers again. He held her by the waist, and she jumped at the feeling of cold hands on her warm skin.

He slowly pushed her back onto the bed, moving over her, resting his weight on his elbows on either side of her head. Callie looped her arms around his neck, coming to terms with the fact that she was kissing him back. She hooked a leg around his waist, but he didn't smirk like he normally would have if she had done that. If she knew before that this man wasn't Mark, she was positive now. But, she didn't particularly mind. She understood. She would be whoever he needed her to be. She would help him in whatever way she could, even if it came back to hurt them later. But maybe this time around, things would turn out better. Maybe this time, nothing would fall apart because of what she was about to do.

So, she kept kissing him back. His hands roamed, looking for something; he didn't know what it was.

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Lexie had been consciously avoiding the on-call room where Mark was. For a little while, right after he went in, she had paced outside of it, waiting for any indication of him wanting somebody to be with him. When nothing came, heart breaking, she fled.

She needed to be away from there. She needed to distract herself until he came out.

She went back to the interns' locker room. She ate a bag of potato chips, and then brushed her teeth. After that, she took a shower and brushed her teeth again. That was basically all she could do in the locker room, so she took her racing heart and nervous stomach elsewhere.

She picked up a stack of charts that still needed to be done and brought them with her into a supply closet. It was peaceful in there, and she would forget about everything for short periods of time as she was charting, forget everything except the scratching of her pen against paper. For once, she damned her quick work, as she finished each of the charts in what seemed like record time.

She sat and stared for a while, memorizing the instructions on the plastic packages that contained the bedpans. _Roll patient on side, place bedpan underneath with highest part in front, roll patient back_. She wished it was more intricate than that.

Also during the sitting-and-staring phase, Lexie began graphing hyperbolas in her head. She was in the middle of a particularly nasty equation when a thought struck her.

She should be in that on-call room with Mark. It didn't matter if he wanted her there with him or not. He was wounded, and needed help. She could help him; she felt strongly about him and hated to see him so distraught. She could help him, she could comfort him. She wanted to, so badly. So, even though she knew he would reject her at first, she made the decision to go to him.

She stood up and exited the closet, heart hammering even more rapidly than before. She breathed. In and out, regular and deep. It would be alright. Mark would be okay, eventually, and he would thank her for it later.

She kept breathing during the long, nerve-wracking, shaking-kneed walk to the on-call room door.

She was still breathing, still able to breathe, when she grasped the handle of the door. The metal was cold against her hand.

The thing that made her _stop_ breathing? Opening the door and discovering Mark and Callie half-naked, on the bed, and in the midst of a fiery kiss.


	5. So Much for So Much More

**This chapter was very rushed, unfortunately, and I do not enjoy writing confrontation. It was intended to only be the first half of a chapter, but the length got out of hand. Besides, I'm going on a trip tomorrow and wanted to get one last update in.  
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In his muddled mind, Mark heard the door open. It was a distant click and bounce of the handle, something that his mind did not allow itself to fully register. Still, he heard it all the same. But he was focused solely on where his hands were on Callie's body and how his lips were mingling with hers, He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything else, even when he tried – when he did, he just remembered Kevin and why he was in this situation in the first place.

So, even after the door opened, he kept kissing Callie, unable to tear his concentration from the distraction at hand. His choice was beginning to show its true colors, starting to feel empty and inadequate. A terrible heavy feeling, possibly guilt, was manifesting itself deep in his chest. But he couldn't stop, because this awful feeling was still better than what would come with acknowledging that Kevin was dead. He just needed to put it off for as long as possible, and if he kept moving with Callie, lips parting and sighing, he would be able to.

But, then, he realized that he was kissing her on the corner of her mouth instead of full on the lips. She had twisted her head to see who the intruder was, and when Mark saw the color drain from her face and saw her eyes double in size, he made himself look.

When he did, he was hurled back into reality so violently that it actually made him dizzy. The bottom of his stomach dropped out and his mouth turned desert-dry. He tried to form her name, but he could only think it.

_Lexie._

He instantly removed his hands from Callie's half-bare body and moved away from her, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. A hot and prickly sensation traveled from his cheeks to his fingertips, and then down to his legs. Dread. He had done it. He had hurt her. He swallowed. Two conflicting ideas waged war in his head. Of course he had hurt her, he was Mark Sloan. But he hadn't wanted to hurt her, he didn't want to sabotage the great thing they had. He tried to swallow again but couldn't.

It all happened so quickly, a matter of seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. He was frozen in place, impulsively running his tongue over his lips, staring at Lexie. He saw the subtle changes in her reaction: the initial sheepish and apologetic glace to the side, essential to catching someone in a compromising position on an on-call room. Then, the faint eyebrow-quirk and head-tilt of recognition. Then – Mark winced as this one happened – her mouth fell open and her eyes widened in an expression of sheer shock and _hurt_. She wasn't breathing, and her face had gone totally pale. Her heart was breaking, he could see it.

A whirlwind was cycling through Lexie's body, out of control. There was no way this was happening, this couldn't exist. She couldn't feel her body as she stared at Mark, dumb disbelief filling her and pricking at her eyes. She felt the beginnings of fight-or-flight in her system, heart rate and breath quickening and skin heating. Her stomach squeezed uneasily and it hurt.

Tendrils of dismay curled in Mark's core as the uncomfortable impasse persisted for what seemed like way too long. A single thought kept repeating itself in his head: he had hurt so many people this way already. First Derek, then Addison, and now Lexie. How many more would there be? How many more _could_ there be?

Heart in his throat, he shifted his gaze to Callie. Her eyes were closed, her head was turned, and she was biting her lower lip, trying to block everything out – shame for what she had done, guilt for having been an enabler, and embarrassment and humiliation for having been caught and injuring someone else. She knew from the beginning that it would be a mistake. And she could have stopped it.

Lexie watched Mark look at Callie with an expression of something vaguely familiar to confusion on his face. The image of the two of them was emblazoned in her mind for good, and it was playing itself over and over like a bad song on repeat. Her skin burned and crawled. She had to get out of there before she broke; she could feel it coming. She couldn't stand here and look at them for any longer. Her face was scorching and her stomach was in knots. She took a tentative step, testing her wobbly knees (somehow they held) before bolting. By the time Mark looked back in her direction all he saw was a blur of light blue scrubs on the edge of the doorframe.

He snapped into action too. "Lexie!" he called after her, finally able to use his vocal cords. "Shit," he swore huskily, scrambling off of Callie and the bed. He snatched his shirt from the floor and yanked it over his head, tearing out the door and beginning to follow her. At that point, an explanation would most likely be futile. But he sure as hell was going to try. Lexie was keeping just out of reach, flitting around every corner with desperate double-steps. Mark pushed harder to reach her, realizing that she could move pretty damn fast when she was upset.

Mark finally managed to catch up with her on the bridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see through the enormous windows that it was only twilight. The day, which had been indescribably awful so far, was still far from ending. Lexie was so close now, striding quickly away from him with her shoulders hunched over and her eyes on the ground. "Lexie," he said firmly, out of breath, closing the gap and grabbing her arm. She tried to jerk out of his grip and keep going, and he did lose his grasp, but he recovered and caught her again, by his fingertips on the coarse fabric of her lab coat's sleeve. She was whirled around by the force of his grab against the force of her trying to get away.

"Let me go," she told him – it began as a demand, but melted into a pained whimper by the end. She struggled with him for another moment, keeping her eyes away from his face. "Just let me go!"

He held her there, moving his fingers to tightly encircle her wrist; he didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't let her get away. She recognized that she wouldn't be able to escape at that point, and ceased her resistance. She chewed on her lip and closed her eyes, tucking her chin into her shoulder. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, rattling so loudly in her own ears that she was sure everyone else could hear it was well. "Lexie," Mark said hoarsely, placing his other hand on her shoulder (she tried to shrug away), "listen to me-"

"No," she replied. She raised her eyes to glare at him, steeling her jaw. A chill ran from Mark's spine to the rest of his body. "You know what? _No_." Her voice sharpened tenfold into a tone that Mark hadn't known she was capable of. It made him cringe and he saw just how much this had wounded her.

He tried to speak despite her stiff rejection. She cut him off before he could form the first syllable. "What is this, Mark? What are you doing?" she asked incredulously, narrowing her eyes in injured confusion. She shook her head and began again on a different thought.

"I can't believe you!" she cried, finding it difficult to keep her emotions in check even with their fellow employees moving around them. Mark swallowed hard but still kept his hand steadfast around her delicate wrist. When she continued, her voice was very bitter, a defense mechanism designed to hurt him right back. "Then again, I know what your reputation was, so _should_ I really be surprised?" She paused, even though the question wasn't mean to be answered. He stared at her, dumbfounded. "After everything, I thought you had changed. I really believed that you were turning into a new you, on your terms. But apparently, you haven't changed after all." She sighed sharply and shook her head. "Was it a lie? Was I just another notch in your bedpost that you became attached to for a while?" It had been such a sharp regression from the happiness and daring not to speak those three words to fucking Callie in an on-call room, where Lexie was sure it would have gone if she hadn't stumbled in upon them. The thought disoriented her for a moment, making her queasy.

The words cut him like tiny shards of shattered glass; small things that caused more pain than they should have.

"Why do I always have to try and see the best in people? Why do I constantly make that mistake? All it brings me in the end is shit," she spat. "You know, I wondered why Derek tried to keep you from me. I wondered why everyone had the notion that you were a bad guy. Now I'm seeing it. Maybe Derek and everyone were right about you." She knew how terrible that was to say, but she wanted to make him hurt too.

The pain was in Mark's heart, then, a hollow blow that ached in his ribs. Bringing Derek into this was uncalled for. It was the one thing she knew he wouldn't be able to argue or come back at. He could see that she was firing with every poisonous thing that she could think of, but that fact didn't take any of the edge away from her words. She was slipping away from him with every passing second and he was helpless to stop it.

"Or is it not that at all?" she went on abruptly, swiping his hand from her shoulder with disgust. "Is some self-destructive thing where you're so afraid to be happy that you wanted to sabotage it? If that's it, then it's even worse because you're not just hurting one person, you're hurting two." She gave him a pointed glare. "I'm embarrassed because I should be stronger than this, but if you did this to push me away," she said more softly than before, "it worked."

By that time, they had attracted a small crowd. Their colleagues stood around them, at an acceptable distance, trying to be inconspicuous about their curious and confused whispering.

"That wasn't it at all," Mark heard himself tell her in a voice bordering on desperate. He felt disconnected from his body, like he was watching everything fall to pieces on a television screen.

"Then what was it?" Lexie demanded. She waited exasperatedly for an answer and Mark just stared at her, opening his mouth and then closing it again. He hadn't expected her to actually let him speak.

At last, he collected his thoughts and answered. "I was hurting," he murmured, moving the slightest bit towards her (she moved the same distance away), "and Callie was there. I thought it would help me hurt less, but it didn't. I didn't want to."

Lexie scoffed. "You wouldn't have done it if you didn't want to."

"That's not true." His voice hardened as he was unable to calm a sudden swell of anger.

She ignored him and went on. "It's not even that you almost…" She swallowed her words because they would have stung on the way out. "You let her be there for you, Mark." The truth was pouring out. "You let _her_ be there for you when I wanted to be there for you." She looked up at him, and her chestnut eyes showed such sudden sadness that it knocked what little air he had left from his lungs. "I was willing to give you whatever you needed. I wanted to help you! Even after all we've been through, were you afraid of scaring me away? Would you _ever_ let me be there for you?"

He blinked at her, begging his mind to come up with an acceptable answer. _Passable_, even. "Yes-"

"I thought we had gotten past this," she said. "All the fear and issues and…I really must be an idiot. I've just made one stupid decision and after another and suffered through too many rejections since I came here. First Meredith, then Alex, then George, and then the one thing I thought wasn't going to be a failure, _you_. I don't think I can do this." She bit her lip, embarrassed.

Mark ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. "Lexie," he said dejectedly, shaking his head at her.

When Lexie made eye contact with him, all she could see was him entangled with Callie on the rickety bed, allowing her to be with him when he needed it most; the same time that he shunned her away. It was unbearable. She winced and glanced downward, speaking barely above a whisper. "God, I can barely even look at you."

Mark had nothing to say to that. He watched her closely and she avoided his gaze, mentally willing her not to leave. He was so intent that he didn't notice when she slipped her wrist out of his grasp.

"But that doesn't matter," she said in a tiny voice. "Because I'm done. I'm done," she declared, a scrap of strength finding its way into her shaky words. With one final sorrowful, pathetic, poignant look at him, she turned and, biting her lip against the intense pain of tearing herself away, began determinedly away from him. There was no goodbye, no final sting, or no sound-off line. It was simple and definitive. Done.

His feet were rooted to the ground. He tried to stop her, but all that came from him was a hoarse breath. His heart was pounding in his ears and he didn't even notice the looks that the bystanders were giving him, some sympathetic and some that made it seem like this was karmic.

She disappeared quickly down another hallway. He felt warmth leaving his face. She was gone. Another was gone. One that really mattered was gone.

Fury quickly replaced the numbness. Holding in a snarl, he tore himself from his frozen position and went back in the direction from which he had come, forcing his way through the people who had been discreetly watching them. He acknowledged none of them.

Halfway down the next hall, he found a small and dark supply closet. He ducked into it. Once inside, he clenched his jaw and stood there, shaking and seething. He had done it again; he had managed to fuck up yet another thing that he had been trying his damnedest not to. Maybe he was the idiot for thinking he wouldn't this time. What was there to stop him? Nothing. He would continue to do it and do it again, into forever.

With a wave of rage, he kicked the set of metal shelves on the wall across from him hard. His ears were deaf to the piercing metal _clang _and his foot was numb to the sharp pain. Plastic-packaged instruments and supplies cascaded from the shelving and littered the floor around his feet.

He couldn't stand being in his own skin.

The door opened and he whirled around to see who the intruder was. Callie stood in the doorway, hesitating for a moment, before cautiously making her way over to him. Looking at him apologetically and almost timidly, she reached out to touch his arm. Before she could make contact, he let out a hissing sigh and jerked away from her. Then, with a scathing glare at her, he stomped out of the closet and slammed the door behind him. She jumped at the loud bang, spooked by the whole situation. In the darkness, she rested her back against the wall and slid a sitting position on the floor, resting her elbows on her knees and placing her hands on her head. She stayed that way for a long time.

It all had begun on an out of control path, moments and emotions slipping through their fingers and being scattered through the air like infinitesimal grains of sand.

Neither Mark nor Lexie knew how it could get any worse from here.


	6. Lights Will Guide You Home

**Here's the part that will require a huge leap of faith from all of us. Just remember, stick with it, this _still_ isn't the end. In fact, it's nowhere near the end.  
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To the average person, nothing about that night seemed unusual. The Emerald City Bar was pretty crowded, as it always was. It was full to bursting with patrons, at the bar, at tables, or standing. Most of them were U-Dub students, crowding together in clusters with their drinks and pool sticks. The atmosphere was jovial and loud, with a cacophony of the students' voices. The initial excitement had been sparked – Spring Break was about a month away, and they were all chattering about where they planned to go and how much alcohol they were planning on bringing, each trying to outtalk the others. The jukebox in the corner was blaring and, beside it, in the shadows, a couple was engaged in some heavy kissing.

The collegiate crowd wasn't the only one there, however. Some of the regulars from Seattle Grace were present as well, at tables mostly. They were generally quieter, having been there and done that with the college stuff. They sat and sipped their drinks, unwinding after a long day at the place across the street (sometimes, they didn't call it by their name when they were at the bar; it was a sanctuary). One table a few paces away from the bar was occupied by Meredith Grey, Cristina Yang, and Alex Karev. They were the quietest of the bunch, too preoccupied with watching another patron who was sitting alone at the bar to converse amongst themselves. Lexie had no idea that three pair of eyes were fixed intently on her, watching her every move.

"That's number four," Alex commented, gesturing toward Lexie's back with the mouth of his beer bottle as Joe poured her yet another shot of tequila. "Damn, Mer, I guess I should have realized this a long time ago, but she really is just like you." Meredith raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, watching as Lexie knocked the shot back smoothly, shuddered, smacked the glass down onto the bar, and gestured for another. "Just what we need, another tequila drunk." He smiled with sarcastic sweetness at Meredith as Cristina snorted. Meredith couldn't help but smirk as well, even when she backhanded him in the bicep.

"You don't think Sloan's going to show up here, do you?" Cristina asked, shoving a handful of peanuts into her mouth and washing it down with a mouthful of her beer.

"How does everyone know already?" Meredith wondered aloud, eyes never leaving her sister.

"She tore him apart in the middle of the hallway," Cristina replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I was standing, like, right there. Everyone heard."

"He won't show up," Alex confirmed. "Any level-headed guy knows that if you get caught cheating, don't chase after the girl. Makes you look like kind of a pussy." The women gave him a look of surprise and distaste. They knew he was stressed about Izzie, but that didn't exactly give him the right to say whatever he wanted. "What?" he said defensively. "It's only the truth." He shrugged. "Besides," he continued, "you've gotta give the girl time to cool off. Maybe think about the thing, you know? You weren't there in the OR. You didn't see the look on Sloan's face when I called the time of death." Alex took a quick gulp of his drink, squirming in his seat. At this rate, he was going to need one of those tequila shots in a few minutes.

Cristina shook her head vigorously, held up her index finger, and swallowed her peanuts. "Still doesn't make what he did anywhere near acceptable," she argued. "If he wanted to screw someone to forget, why screw Callie? Why not Lexie?" The clatter of a pool stick punctuated her sentence.

"Okay," Meredith interjected. "I feel bad too, terrible, actually, but let's stop talking about my sister having sex, please." Alex and Cristina murmured apologies before they resumed Lexie Watch.

Joe had returned to refill her glass, and he had been caught in the vortex. She was speaking to him a bit too loudly, and the three residents could just about make out her words above all of the other bar noises. "And you know, I feel _sorry_ for him," she rambled with a hint of drunken spite in her voice, "because he's such a bastard. Like, nobody should ever have to carry that amount of bastardity in them. Is that a word? Well, it's a word now. And it'd have his picture next to it in the dictionary." Joe nodded silently, staring at her with his mouth agape. She was in rare form tonight. He had never seen her like this. The Lexie he first knew would have sulked silently with a pitiful pout. She really had been changed, he thought.

Her hands were gesturing more than usual and she was talking so quickly that she was probably trying to convince herself rather than him. He considered cutting her off from the alcohol, then, but she had this underlying look of sadness in her chestnut eyes and he couldn't do that to her. Besides, she had friends here who would look after her. He hoped.

"What's she saying?" Cristina whispered, leaning in closer and straining to hear. Alex and Meredith shushed her harshly.

"And he is an idiot," Lexie continued sloppily, bumping one of her empty glasses with her elbow and causing it to slide dangerously close to the edge of the bar, "and nowhere _near _as good in bed as everyone says he is." She paused, eyes rolling sheepishly to the ceiling. "Okay, so maybe he is. But that's not the point!" she concluded sharply. Joe smiled uncomfortably and craned his neck to look over her head (she was oblivious) at the trio of residents, his awkward smile subtly transforming into a strained, embarrassed "help-me-please" cry. Alex, Cristina, and Meredith looked between one another and shrugged sympathetically at Joe. A few stools away from Lexie, two kids were grasping the handles of their empty beer mugs and staring impatiently at Joe. Lexie was oblivious to this as well and the words kept flowing out. "Am I being too harsh here?"

"No," Joe answered immediately, seeing this as his exit. "Just…drink this," he instructed, pushing the full shot glass to her, "and I have to go refill their beers before they jump over the bar." He gestured to the students who were looking more frustrated by the second.

"Okay," Lexie agreed quite easily, looking at the drink in front of her. Joe nodded and started toward the kids. "Thank you for listening, Joe!" she exclaimed rather loudly after him, placing her elbows on the bar and leaning over it. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he shot her a thumbs-up. Satisfied, she was about to toss back the next shot. But, when the bell at the door jingled, signaling that someone had either entered or left, her head whipped around immediately to see who it was. The residents noticed her teeter dangerously on the barstool before they looked back as well. Her hazel eyes were crazy, unfocused due to the alcohol, with a mixture of anger and the tiniest hints of hopefulness and sadness in them.

She let out a defeated sigh when she realized that it was just another U-Dub student. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he pinpointed his girlfriend and surprised her with a hug from behind and a kiss against the side of her neck. Her giggles rang above all of the other sounds, and Lexie scowled down at her drink. When the bell tinkled again, she didn't even bother looking up.

"Hey," George called to Alex, Cristina, and Meredith, shrugging off his track jacket and making his way over to their table. They greeted him half-heartedly, still distracted by Lexie's actions. George followed the line of their gazes to her, and his eyes widened.

"Is she okay?" he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting on it. The others muttered an unintelligible, collectively uncertain answer. "How many has she had?" In that exact moment, Lexie took the shot, relishing in the burning trail it left down her throat. For a second or two, it overshadowed the deeper pain.

"That's five," Alex answered.

"Seriously?" George said incredulously.

"Yep," Meredith and Cristina chimed in unison. Cristina took another handful of peanuts.

"Did Sloan…was he here?"

"No."

George could not think of any more questions, so he joined in the silent vigil for a few moments. Then, he fidgeted in his chair, leaned back, and ran his hands through his hair. "Are we going to sit here and stare at her or are we going to try and talk to her?" he asked slowly and softly, drawing out his words. The others glanced at each other, considering, before Cristina answered for the group.

"Sit here and stare." The three of them glanced at George for a split second from the corners of their eyes in affirmation.

George furrowed his brow at them. "Well, I think we should try and help her," he offered, shrugging. "We can't let her drink herself into a stupor alone. Meredith, you're her sister, do something."

Meredith held her hands up. "Like I said before, I feel awful," she told him defensively, voice rising an octave. "But what can I do? I don't know what to say to her." George almost scoffed at her avoidance.

"You were in the exact same situation as she was not too long ago," he pointed out.

"What do you mean?"

George's jaw dropped. "Do secret wives and me snorting beer out of my nose ring any bells?"

Meredith grimaced. "They do now. I was trying to repress that, but thank you very much for reminding me." She stole a drink of Cristina's beer; she had been trying to avoid getting another drink of her own since Lexie was at the bar. She didn't particularly want to be sucked into the vortex too.

"Well, what did you want someone to say to you that night?" George pressed, raising an eyebrow at Meredith.

She contemplated that for a careful moment before responding, "I wanted to hear, 'here's another drink, Meredith.'"

"Amen to that," Cristina muttered. Alex snickered. George sighed huffily.

"Well, if nobody else is going to help her, I am," he said, scooting his chair backwards and standing up.

"Leave it alone," Alex said exasperatedly. "She'll just drink herself sick and put off feeling really shitty to tomorrow. It's what we all do, man, you've been there too." George ignored him, looking between his chair and Lexie. "George." Alex's voice hardened. "Trust me, she won't want you there."

"Why not?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "You broke her heart, dude. You going over there right now will only add insult to injury." At that, George visibly deflated. Alex had a point.

"Yeah, but," he countered, thinking on his feet, "have you guys never broken her heart before?" He addressed each of the individually, counting off the offenses on his fingers. "Cristina, you're her mean resident. I'm sure you've said some harsh stuff to her. Alex, you forgot you had sex with her. I don't think anything else needs to be said. And Mer, you were pretty much poisonous to her in the beginning." She opened her mouth to protest, but George spoke over her. "I used to see her crying in the locker room, I know it's true. You've come a long way, but back then, you might as well have just kicked her newborn puppy."

When it sunk in that George was right, Alex scratched the back of his neck as Cristina and Meredith looked guiltily at the tabletop. He held back a triumphant smile.

After a long, subdued silence, Alex sighed and slowly got to his feet. "Well, do what you want, bleeding heart, but I have to go," he said, removing his jacket from the back of his chair and putting it on. "I'm going to see Iz." The words were spoken with a silent thankfulness for the ability to supersede visiting hours. He dug a few bills out of his pocket and placed them on the table. Cristina and Meredith said their goodbyes, and he left. George's mind was still stuck on Lexie and the way she was basically draped across the bar.

"Look, Lexie helped me through a rough time," he explained earnestly to whoever was listening, if either of _were_ listening to him. "And even though we didn't leave things in a good place, it would only be right of me to do the same for her." Besides, he didn't say this part out loud, but regardless of the ice between them, he still considered Lexie to be one of his best friends. The crapartment was painfully empty without her. He missed her. If there was any opportunity to reconnect with her and maybe even clear the air, he would take it.

Without waiting for approval or even disapproval, George headed toward the empty spot at the bar next to Lexie. Watching him, Cristina pulled a fiver from her pocket.

"Five bucks says she cries," she offered. "Or punches him. Or both. Or maybe she'll punch him and _he'll_ cry." Meredith ignored her, and Cristina decided it best to put the money away.

George approached Lexie carefully, trying not to many any sudden movements. "Um, Lexie?" he said hesitantly when he was close enough. She jumped a bit, surprised, and so did he. At first, she squinted at him, as if she wasn't sure who he was. When the delayed registration took place and she realized that it was George, a look of shock and confusion came across her face. With wide eyes, drawn-together eyebrows, and wrinkled forehead, it was the same drunk as it was when she was sober.

"George?" she stammered, flabbergasted. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Her cheeks were incredibly flushed, and he hoped it was from the tequila and not from embarrassment at his presence. Maybe the others were right. Maybe he should have stayed out of this.

But he couldn't just leave now. "Are…are you okay?" he asked, his voice growing higher at the end.

Lexie's gawking persisted. Why would George be there then, in her moment of complete and alcohol-laced vulnerability? Why wasn't he there all of those times when she wanted him to be there? Fuzzy memories coursed through her, like that one time she decorated his locker, the many, many times she _sniffed_ him, and that exhilarated, quick kiss that meant a lot to her but was apparently meaningless to him. The flashbacks brought prickly, sharp sensations of humiliation and regret. But they were quickly overshadowed once again by her disbelief and all-encompassing anger at Mark's betrayal. She had bigger things to be mad about, she remembered.

And besides, it felt nice to have someone be concerned for her. George was the first one to even approach her. It felt good to have someone there.

She blinked twice before she gathered her thoughts well enough to answer.

"Uh, yeah." Her face contorted and she shook her head. "No. No." She sighed. "I don't know." She placed her hand on her forehead and took another deep breath, closing her eyes to halt the room's movement. It wasn't at the point of a full spin just yet; it was just rocking back and forth, over and over again, tilting relentlessly from side to side. It was disorienting enough to make her shake her head again.

George let out a pent-up breath. She hadn't started screaming at him or crying yet. That was a good sign. He edged a bit closer to her, as if he was walking on a bed of nails. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Um, no," she replied awkwardly, eyes still very wide. She reached over and brushed some nonexistent debris off of the barstool next to her. "Go ahead." George took the offer and slid onto the stool, watching her from the corner of his eye. Immediately, Joe appeared in front of him.

"Hey, George," he greeted. "What can I get you?"

"Guinness, please," he requested. Joe nodded with a smile and reached for a beer mug before he noticed Lexie playing absent-mindedly with her empty glass.

"I'm assuming you'd like another?"

Lexie didn't need to say anything. She just held the glass up to him.

George took the first sip of his beer, licking the foam from his lips. To Lexie, he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, "I know this might seem like a lot to ask, and I don't want you to freak out or anything but…do you want to talk about it? Because I know about this kind of thing and-"

The look she gave him could have turned him to stone.

"Okay." He gulped. "Should we just drink then?"

Her reply was soft, but final.

"Yes."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The not-talking lasted only a little while longer. Lexie had finished another shot, and then wisely decided to take a break for a while. She wanted to forget, not die. George was almost done with his second beer, and to him, the room was beginning to echo just a little bit more than usual. Meredith and Cristina had come over to say their goodbyes – Meredith had squeezed Lexie's shoulder reassuringly, even though she had nothing to say.

After they left, the mutual drunkenness had made the whole situation a lot less awkward, so Lexie finally spoke. "I mean, it's like, he's…" she babbled, drumming her fingers on the bar, searching for the right analogy. The lightbulb went off. "It's like he's Henry the eighth!"

"Mmm!" George exclaimed, mouth shut, into his beer glass as he drained the last bit of Guinness that was in the bottom. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "_I'm Henry the eighth I am…_" he sang, quite off-key. Lexie snorted with laughter, forgetting what she was trying to say for a moment before blinking her mind clear again.

"And I'm-" she did a quick count in her head of previous "serious" relationships she knew he had, and could only think of one "-I'm Anne Boleyn!" she cried in despair, lying her head down on the bar. She recoiled and quickly pulled back up when it was sticky beneath her cheek.

"You know, Lex," George said, and Lexie didn't wince when he used her nickname, "honestly, I think you're better off without him. He's got this whole…" He lost the word. "…_thing_ that you don't know about. Side. Past. Whatever. I can empathize. You know, he slept with Callie while I was with her."

Her whole body tightened as if it was trying to physically fight off the words. Even though she stayed silent, Lexie did know that. She knew it very well, he had told her. About that, about Addison, about pretty much everything. It wasn't the fact that it happened that was like an ice pick through her heart – it was that she thought Mark had been past it. Apparently, she was wrong. She thought she was right about him. He had fooled her, she thought. It ached again, and maybe it was time for another shot.

"Screw him," George continued, waving his hand like he was trying to flick something off of it. He was staying in the safe zone, saying only the things he knew would make Lexie feel better. "He didn't deserve you." His voice was earnest, his eyes truthful. She smiled softly, just the slightest quirk of her mouth's corner, and glanced down at her hands.

There was once a time when George saying something like that would have turned her into a puddle of goo and hormones. Her knees would have gone weak and her skin would have flushed – temporarily uncomfortable heat would radiate throughout her whole body, but no matter how agonizing it was, she loved and craved the feeling. Her smile would have been uncontrollable, but he would have looked at her obliviously and it would have faded quickly. Disappointment would manifest itself; her body would droop and she would sigh. But, then, the cycle would repeat and she would have believed every time that _this_ time would be it.

It never was.

Now, though, his words were almost akin to an apology, or making things even. Through them (and her hazy mind), she caught a glimpse of a fresh start. It broke through her gloom for a fleeting moment. She felt better, now, just by a little bit. But, for once, a little bit was enough. Maybe this would be a release. Maybe things between them would finally, _finally_ be right again.

"Thanks, George." She leaned toward him, placing her hand on his knee for balance. She smiled again as he stared at her. His breath had hitched.

Her hand, heavy and warm, lingered on his knee for a little too long. Clenching his jaw, he chalked it up to his lagging sense of time. Before it remained there any longer, she straightened and asked for another shot. He got another beer.

But, in the middle of the first gulp, it felt like there was something was lodged in his throat. He almost couldn't get it down.

------------------------------------------------------------------

George glared into the eyes of his opponent, nostrils flaring in determination. It was some redheaded, freckly U-Dub student with a backwards baseball cap and a muscle shirt. His friends stood behind him, red-faced, sweaty, and calling out with raspy enthusiasm. A few of them thumped him on the back, giving words of encouragement. By then, everyone in the bar was completely plastered, too far gone to be dragged back.

George and the kid each held a shot glass, suspended above another glass that was half-full of a light amber liquid. George rotated the shot of Jägermeister between his fingers, being careful not to let it fall into the other glass before the countdown. Lexie was cheering behind him, probably not quite aware of what was going on. She was also bouncing on her barstool to the beat of the blaring music, distracting many a college kid in the process.

One of the redhead's friends, also wearing a muscle shirt, counted down from three. When he reached _one_, both men reacted immediately. Hearts pounding, everything moved in slow motion. They dropped the shot glass into the other and, as it settled to the bottom with the vaguest clink, raised the glass to their lips and began to drink. Chants of _chug, chug!_ rang in George's ears as he swallowed again and again, barely tasting the too-sweet concoction. He could hear his blood coursing through his veins. His adrenaline spiked, and it mixed with his stomach's new contents in a tingling and mildly unpleasant way.

Squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing against the sugary-sick taste, he took two final gulps and slammed the glass down onto the bar. Just an instant after his glass made contact, the frat boy's did. Even though his mouth felt fuzzy from the drink, he was suddenly elated with alcohol and victory and freedom. He hadn't let go like this in a long time, and it felt damn good.

He whooped triumphantly, and Lexie squealed his name with excitement and pride. The other college kids were dumbstruck for a second. But, then, they began shouting for him and clapping on _his_ back. He felt Lexie's hands as well, more delicate than the ones that were slapping him, their heat managing to radiate through his shirt and straight to his core.

Doing his best to ignore it, he hollered, "This round's on me!" Cheers erupted, loud and ringing, and George was suddenly the hero. Joe rolled his eyes, smirking. Everyone waited for their drink, shaking George's hand and grinning.

That round was the last one of the night – as soon as everyone was served, Joe made the final call. Lexie and George looked at each other and laughed. He was glad to see her smile, even though it only came out because she was absolutely smashed.

"Guess we've gotta get a cab," George slurred.

"Guess I've gotta go back to Meredith's," Lexie pointed out with sudden resignation.

"Maybe you don't," George insinuated. "You should come home with me." Her eyes widened considerably, to at least twice their size, and he was quick to correct himself. "No, no, not like that!" he exclaimed, sputtering. "I mean, it'd be a hassle. We should just get a cab back to my place. You can crash in your old bed and everything. It'd be easier."

Lexie couldn't argue with that – sober, she might have been able to, but she lacked the mental capacity at that point. George held back a grin. This was perfect. This would convince Lexie to come home.

So he pulled out his cell phone and, after two tries, managed to dial Meredith's number. It rang several times before she answered groggily. "_Hello?_" It sounded like she had been asleep for a while.

"Hey, Mer," George basically shouted into the phone. In his mind, he could see Meredith cringing at his voice, squinting and scrunching up her face.

"_Is something wrong?_" she asked nervously, breaking out of sleep's fog. "_Is Lexie okay?_" Her voice was the delirious sort of panicked.

"No, she's fine," George reassured her, words slightly garbled. "Drunk but fine. And so am I. And that's why I'm calling, she's not coming to your house, she's coming to the apartment." Again, the stunned silence, and again, flustered, he clarified. "Not like that! It'd just be easier, with the cab and all. Too confusing. I promise, everything will be okay. We'll be great." Excitement for his plan swelled within him. The loneliness looked like it might soon be over. It would be good to have his friend back.

Nonetheless, it took Meredith a long time to answer. "_Okay,_" she replied, drawing out the word to make it several syllables longer than it should have been. "_As long as you're sure it's no imposition._"

"No way!" George said, accompanied by a hand gesture that he didn't realize she couldn't see. "She's _so_ wasted, she'd be a handful for you. I've got her."

"_Well…thanks,_" Meredith said hesitantly.

"Of course. We'll see you tomorrow." Before waiting for Meredith's goodbye, he disconnected the call and looked at Lexie. She was standing, holding onto the bar for support. "You ready?" he asked, and she nodded. Her ponytail shook with the motion of her head, glinting and shiny in the dim light of the saloon. She was a _pretty_ drunk, he had to give her that.

He called for a cab. Hopefully it would arrive very soon. He couldn't wait to take Lexie back to where she belonged.

---------------------------------------------------------------

After several attempts to get his key into his door (their door, he remembered), George finally succeeded. He turned it and opened the door and stumbled into the apartment, loosely gripping Lexie's waist and pulling her in behind him. They were both laughing breathlessly at how George had almost tumbled down the steps as he eagerly trotted to the entrance. He cast aside his keys and peeled his jacket off, dropping it to the floor and kicking it into a corner. He repeated the procedure for his shoes, tossing them on top of the pile. He looked over his shoulder, ready to invite Lexie to do the same. But his words caught in his throat when he saw her.

She was frozen in place, mouth hanging slightly open, lips parted in an almost dainty way. Her face had gone stark white, and her eyes were huge with shock. He said her name, but she didn't hear him. Her heart pounded in her ears as her eyes darted around the main room of the apartment. There were so many memories here, of drinking and brushing her teeth and laughing and staying up late to help George study and whispering that she loved him into the darkness at night. She saw the curtains she stole, his Bob Dylan poster, a presumably empty canister of roach repellent, and the television they had both chipped in to buy when she couldn't swipe one from Seattle Grace because they were so cleverly bolted to the wall. The scent hit her nose – peppermint, sawdust, and a tiny hint of mildew. The familiarity slammed into her as a dull blow to the gut. Otherwise, she felt numb. Her head was swimming.

It was the place she used to call home. Everything was the same. George was the same, the air was the same, the gravity was the same. But it wasn't her home anymore. Her home was with someone else, somewhere she could no longer go to. Her breath began coming in short sporadic bursts, as she periodically held it in and expelled it forcefully. She had to fix this. She couldn't go home anymore. She was a stray again. It was the first time she had thought of that. It was empty and _lonely_.

She tried to remember how she had made the other place home. Her intoxicated mind took a long time to recall it. Fastened to those thoughts of purple sweaters and porn star come-ons were emotions that were once wonderful, but now caused searing pain. But, when she pulled herself out of them, she knew what she had to do. Maybe it would ease the pain.

She wondered for an instant if this is what Mark had thought earlier that day, too.

"Lexie," George murmured in what he hoped was a soothing way. It hurt him to see someone who was still his friend so distraught. He stepped up to her, gently wiping the away the tears that had escaped from her eyes and rolled down her face. Slowly, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slid her jacket off, allowing it to pool around her feet and ankles. A tiny whimper came from her throat and he felt powerless. She fumbled around with her feet, removing her shoes and pushing them away.

They were flush with one another, then, the fronts of their bodies touching and brushing lightly against one another. George's pulse began to race. She raised her eyes to look into his before her head tilted upwards. They were so soft and sad and beautiful that it made his mouth fall open. She smelled like cigarette smoke and vanilla. Time stood still for an instant as they stared at one another, George stunned and Lexie heartbroken. Lexie edged closer and George was too dazed to shrink back.

"George," she whispered hoarsely, and a tiny melancholy smile quirked at her mouth. His heart was ready to leap out of his chest and bound around the room. A nervous sweat threatened at his forehead. Her arms found their way around his neck and they were suspended on a fragile thread over the threshold of danger and rash decisions. Her mouth inched towards his in slow motion. Her eyes drooped.

Their lips bumped together awkwardly first, and George only had a fraction of a second to gasp before Lexie fused hers to his more forcefully, more completely.

For a moment, George was dizzy with the combination of the beer, Jägerbombs, and the kiss. Her lips tasted like plain ChapStick and tequila. He vaguely recalled the taste from the time he kissed her accidentally a long time ago, when he was delirious from joy and basically slap-happy. He wondered if she had felt like he did now, surprised and questioning frantically if it meant something.

But, when she opened her mouth against his, his whole body stiffened. However drunk, his mind began to reject it; it hit him. The problem. The ruin of another friendship. The commencement of another crippling mistake. She was drunk and sad, and he was drunk and wanted to comfort her. It was a formula for disaster. He clamped his mouth shut and wrenched free of her grip. She shuddered at the sudden loss of contact and, when she opened her eyes, she gaped at him, visibly upset.

"Not good," was all he could get out, voice gravelly and scratchy. "This isn't good, Lexie, we're drunk and we'll regret it," he begged, keeping the "please" silent, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.

With that, he saw the chain reaction. Her cheeks became tinted with red, her eyebrows rose sharply, and she swallowed with some effort.

Then, she broke.

She slumped against him, all of her weight coming to rest on him, and he caught her and held her upright. She took in a deep, ragged breath and then couldn't take another. "George," she sputtered in a half-sob, and he couldn't help but marvel at how much she sounded like her sister. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, the first tangible evidence of the heartbreak she had suffered. "Please, George, please, I need this…" She coughed and trembled. "I can't go home. Please, I can't go home. Help me," she pleaded. "Make me forget, make me forget about home, please." He could tell that _home _really meant _him_ and it hurt him deep in his chest. She let out a few more sobs, clinging to him, and he held her tightly against him. She was like a frightened little child, shaking in his arms.

He had to do something. The moral dilemma manifested itself. She was his friend, and he owed her so much. Gratitude, an apology, something to make everything up to her. But, he couldn't do this. He couldn't risk changing a friendship forever, like he had foolishly done before. But, on the other hand, what else could he do? He couldn't bear to see her like this, and he wouldn't be able to handle knowing that she had cried herself to sleep. He had to help her. His muddled mind made the only apparent choice, even though he still was nowhere near sure of his footing.

For a moment, they hovered uncertainly over a chasm of morally shattering choices and consequences. Holding his breath and tip-toeing to the edge, nerves alight hands shaking, George made himself take the plunge.

He used one hand to rub her back and tilted her chin upwards with the other. She stopped crying with a mere tremble of her lower lip. When she looked into his eyes, comforting deep blue, they were compliant with a bit of hesitance. It was good enough, she thought, and kissed him again, desperately, prying his mouth open with hers. He could taste the saline of her tears as they curved down her face. He let out a sigh and placed his hands on her waist. No matter how bad of a decision this was, it felt good. Emotionally, he was confused; the physical was all he could be sure about.

Without breaking the kiss, she reached up behind her and pulled her hair out of the ponytail. It fell to her shoulders, feathering for an instant against George's face. She ran her fingers through his hair, moaning softly, pouring all of her concentration into kissing him and nothing else. He kissed back just as hungrily, trying to ignore his conscience as he forced her body against his. There was no wind outside, no thunder. Everything was silent and heavy, interrupted only by the breath coming from their noses.

George led her to the couch, picking her up (even though she was almost as tall as he was, she was like a feather) and placing her on the edge of its back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, shuddering at the hardness that was pressed against her. His body was giving him away – he liked it and hated it at the same time. She grabbed at the hemline of his shirt, slowly pulling it up and over his head before casting it aside. Anticipation stirred inside of him as Lexie ran her hands from his shoulders to his biceps, and then down his chest and stomach, stopping at the button of his jeans. She removed her own shirt, then, and held his lower lip between her teeth. His eyes rolled backwards.

She was lovely. It was undeniable. She was lovely and he had repressed it for so long, choosing to block out every single thought he had about her. Maybe that first kiss really had carried implications other than gratitude; the clarity of mind bringing impulse to the forefront. And now he wanted her, even if it would hurt both of them and be filed with the other bad decisions he had made in the past year and a half. But maybe it would be worth it.

The slide of skin against skin sent jolts of energy and electricity throughout his whole body, concentrated in his spine and brain. His palms skimmed her bra, gently cupping her breasts; they were smaller than what he was used to, but they fit perfectly in his hands. The pit of his stomach just plain _hurt_ with an agonizing combination of guilt and lust.

He lost control. He took her by the hand and helped her down; Lexie Grey wasn't the kind of girl one fucked on an old couch. Her lips attached themselves to his neck as he led her, staggering, down the hallway. On the subconscious level, he made the decision to turn left, toward her bedroom, instead of right. If this went badly (which he still had the nagging feeling that it would), he especially couldn't live with it if it happened in his own bed.

It was dark in the bedroom, and that was probably for the best. He laid her on the bed (_her_ bed, he reminded himself) and then clambered on top of her. His mouth found the column of her throat and she arched into him, silent but still so loud.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, across town, Mark wasn't sleeping either. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in the immense darkness of his Archfield residence, fidgeting relentlessly and taking deep breaths. He had tried to fall asleep, but it was to no avail. He had forgotten just how _dark_ it was, without Lexie there – without her warm weight beside him, for him to cling to when he couldn't see anything else, keeping him connected to the real and to existence and keeping him from entering the recesses of his imagination where all of those childhood fears still lived.

Without her there, it was like he was floating in the dark that was like what was there before the universe existed. He had tried to relax and close his eyes, but they would pop back open. It didn't make a difference; the blackness was exactly the same either way. He had experienced that familiar feeling of dread, like he was being squeezed in upon himself. The tiniest of sounds became amplified and distorted. He had held his breath, tensing, straining not to hear. He remembered being a child, home alone, and how the darkness was loneliness again. Guilt was over there in the corner, a velvety shadow that was practically corporal. He could feel it expanding and moving about sporadically. He told himself it wasn't real, but it was.

Swearing under his breath, he hustled through the room and flipped every single light on – a habit he thought he would never fall back into.

Even with the entire room bathed in fluorescence, illuminating every dark corner and everything that could have been bad, his sleep was fitful at best.


	7. The Ashes of my Great Undoing

**Hey everyone, it's great to be back with this story. It's one that I really want to tell, and I haven't given up. All I ask is that you lovely people don't give up on me. I have lots of great stuff in store for Lexie, for Mark, for George, for everyone. I can promise you that. This chapter was supposed to be a lot longer (five or so times as long, actually), but I figured it was best to post once I had anything with some semblance of completion.**

**To all of my fellow Americans, a very happy Thanksgiving! To everyone else, hope you're having a great November. The new year is almost here!  
--**

Lucidity returned in fragments, glinting against a faint light on the edge of consciousness. Awareness of her body began in her core and radiated in every direction, to her fingers and toes and face. She felt very heavy and warm with sleep, sprawled prone on a surface that she slowly identified as a mattress. A sigh. She shifted, but her limbs refused to move very far. When her skin brushed and pulled against the sheets her entire body was awkwardly tangled within, she realized she was completely naked. A delayed question oozed into her mind: where the hell was she?

The sheets seemed foreign, but with an inexplicable degree of complete familiarity – a memory once removed. They were very crisp and starchy, like they hadn't been slept in for a while, unlike the silky-soft sheets on Mark's bed at the Archfield-

When that thought tricked across, her stomach plummeted. She remembered. Kevin. Mark. _Callie_. She let out a muffled groan, her face still smashed against the pillow. All at once, the morning was real – no longer a fake construct of her sleeping mind. And yesterday? Yesterday felt even realer.

Yesterday, she felt horrible. Now, she felt horrible. Everything sucked.

Then, Lexie Grey made the mistake of sitting up.

As soon as her head rose above the rest of her body, it throbbed so intensely that it made the room spin. Her stomach felt like it was filled with lead, and it lurched sickly. Whimpering, she forced herself to move through the incredible pain. Her eyes watered and burned. It felt like there was a drill exactly in the center of her forehead. Memories of college ghosted through her mind, promises of _I'll never drink like that again_ coming back to bite her in the ass.

When she had finally grappled to a sitting position, she sunk back against the headboard, not daring to move again or even to open her eyes. Instead, she kept her hands clamped over them tightly in an attempt to take the edge off of the white-hot flashes exploding behind her eyelids.

As she sat there, deflated, head in her hands, searing pain rippling behind her eyes and awful nausea plaguing her stomach, she tried to piece together the events of the night before. Walking into the on-call room (she didn't delve any deeper into that one, nor into the fight on the bridge). Rushing over to Joe's and immediately beginning to imbibe herself with tequila. She squeezed her eyes shut more tightly and made herself concentrate harder. Her heart was racing. Apprehension about possibly making a stupid mistake was not doing anything good for her stomach.

Choppy, incomplete memories popped up, and she struggled to put them into some order. George sitting next to her, saying nice things. Smiling. Meredith's hand on her shoulder. The images became fuzzier and fuzzier as they progressed. A short glimpse of George in a Jägerbomb race with a college student. Sliding clumsily into a cab. George tripping down the concrete stairs to the Crapartment, threatening to go ass-over. Standing in the living room, her old living room. Removing her shoes.

The remainder of images evaporated into wisps of smoke. Warmth on her face, maybe, and heat through her body. They were gray fog against a black background. Grainy outlines she simply couldn't make out. A television gone to static. Nothing but white noise.

At least she had a pretty good idea of where she was. Lexie confirmed her suspicion that she was in her old room at the Crapartment by peeking through her fingers. She squinted against the light as its pinpricks assaulted her head. But it wasn't _her_ room, exactly – the walls were bare and all of her things beside the furniture were gone. Most of it was at Meredith's, but some of it was…

_Still at the Archfield_, she realized with another wave of nausea.

Everything sucked.

Then, with a sudden start (which caused a brutal head rush), it hit Lexie that she was _naked_. She gasped, grabbing fistfuls of the sheet and pulling it over herself. Waking up, she hadn't given it a second thought; she was so used to waking up naked nowadays that it hadn't even fazed her.

But, now. Her blood ran cold, dread attacking her every nerve. Horror-stricken, she wondered: what did she _do_?

The moment of panic was broken by a thought of _wait, it's George_. If the past had anything to do with anything at all, Lexie had no reason to worry. She probably just got hot or uncomfortable and stripped in her sleep. If she was sweating as much then as she was now (the back of her neck was soaked), that had to be the answer. When she slowly peered over the side of the bed she saw her clothes (_her_ clothes only) scattered on the ugly carpet. She finally expelled a sigh of relief.

Then, she began the process of getting up. It was long, slow, and painful. Eventually, through carefully calculated movements, she managed to stand without wanting to faint or vomit. Her mouth still felt like it was cleaved together, though – she was thirsty. She recoiled when she caught sight of her reflection: her face and lips were pale, her hair was an absolute disaster, and her makeup was streaked and smudged across her face. Last night really was hell, she guessed.

But why wouldn't it have been? Everything _sucked_.

She didn't have to go into work until the afternoon, though. Life did manage to throw her one bone, no matter how small and osteoporotic.

Sluggishly, Lexie began to get dressed. Her limbs felt awkward when she tried to maneuver them through the correct holes in the clothes she had on last night. Every time she bent over to pick up another crumpled item of clothing, she staggered from side to side; it was like the floor was swaying beneath her. She almost fell twice while trying to put her second leg into her jeans, and she eventually resorted to leaning over with her forehead on the bed while she struggled to pull them up.

With a final adjustment of her wrinkled shirt that reeked of cigarette smoke and despair, a swipe beneath each eye, and a quick finger comb-through of her hair (none of which helped her state of appearance), she trudged out of the bedroom, totally oblivious to the very male boxers lying on the other side of the bed.

The walk from her bedroom to the main room was the same as it always was: six steps down the tiny hallway, toes rubbing against the mismatched shag carpeting, make a right. An easy destination to reach, but being so hungover (perhaps even still half-drunk) made it a colossal challenge. She allowed one hand to skim the wall just in case. She didn't feel like eating the maroon carpet.

She made it without doing a faceplant. George was at the table, dressed to go to work, staring blankly into an untouched bowl of cereal. The spoon was clenched in his right hand, completely immobile. He was so apparently intent on his breakfast that he didn't notice her standing there. It took tremendous effort for Lexie to squint against the light and quirk an eyebrow at the same time.

"Hey," she said. At the sound of her voice, George started – his eyes darted upward, and he jerked his knees, jumping to a standing position, dropping his spoon and spilling the cereal and milk all over himself. Pale-faced and swearing, he grabbed a towel and began wiping the mess off the front of his pants. Lexie frowned. She knew she looked haggard, but she didn't think it was _that_ bad.

Despite George's horror-stricken gaze and gaping mouth, Lexie went on. "Um, thanks. For letting me stay here last night. And for being there for me at the bar. I really appreciate it." Her voice was kind of hoarse. George didn't even blink. He just kept staring, jaw hanging open. "And sorry if I threw up anywhere. I'll clean it up." Her stomach grew queasy at the thought, and she grimaced. "Just don't make me do it now, or I'll vomit again. God, do I feel awful."

George's stomach was in knots of its own, only partly attributed to the hangover he was battling. He tried to swallow, but there was nothing _to_ swallow. It was like that only thing inside of him was dread. And regret, and guilt. And some shame, too, for allowing something like this to happen for a _third _time.

He had only meant well. But, somehow, he ended up on his ass once again.

And she didn't seem to have any clue as to what happened last night; she was just standing there, watching him, confusion mounting in her painfully innocent eyes. But he remembered everything. Every detail. Every touch, every slide of their bodies, every moment of guilt overridden by lust. And there she was, standing there, looking at him; the images had sharpened tenfold. It was torture. Sweat broke out on his lower back.

He had contemplated doing the Walk of Shame after he woke up next to a very naked Lexie, and he was halfway out the door when he remembered that he couldn't. He _lived_ there.

At least she didn't cry, he thought suddenly, and it almost made him laugh out loud.

Lexie bit her lip in uncertainty when the corner of George's mouth twitched, but his eyes remained transfixed on her. He wasn't blinking, and it didn't look like he was breathing, either, as if doing so would break some delicate balance. Twice he opened and closed his mouth, and twice nothing came out. She had been expecting at least a friendly "no problem." Something wasn't right. Her heart quickened. "George?" she said tentatively.

In an automatic response to the sound of his name, George's face finally transformed. He lowered his gaze to the floor and narrowed his eyes, jaw steeled, completely hangdog and completely hurt. Lexie didn't like that at all. The anxiety returned with a vengeance. There was something she was missing; her mind had missed a vital piece of the puzzle. _Why_ did she have to drink so much? Then, once again, with a pang in her heart, she thought of the answer.

Her voice wavered when she asked, quietly and apprehensively, "George, what happened last night?"

The look he gave her was pathetic. _Please, don't make me say it_.

She repeated herself, more forcefully. "George, what happened-"

The words stopped, cut off by a strangled breath. Her consciousness wrenched – her insides twisted.

A torrent of heat. Dizzy moments swirled and clouded her head. Mouths fused. Hot tears rolling down her face. Touching, grasping. A staggering walk to the bedroom. His lips on her throat. The friction of skin on skin, the gasp at the slide. George inside, outside, and all around her. Silent as she came, teeth almost piercing through her lower lip.

The missing piece. The moment of vulnerability. The prayer to forget. The utter mistake.

The air was icy cold when it rushed into her lungs, bringing her back into her body. It was paralyzing. Her heart seized. Her stomach was heavy and her throat felt swollen. _No_. She ran her tongue along her lower lip; it was swollen, and she could feel two distinct grooves that matched her front teeth perfectly.

George watched her revelation and the subsequent incredulous reaction and something inside of him tore. She looked at him, eyebrows drawn up and together in terror, eyes aghast.

Lexie tried to say something, but it only came out as a squeak. "George?" she finally stammered, and it was a plea for him to tell her she was crazy and that nothing happened. She just fell asleep. Maybe she still was asleep. She'd wake up next to Mark in the hotel room and the whole past day and a half would turn into a faint memory of a nightmare. She told herself to wake up.

Nothing happened. She was already awake.

For a moment, Lexie stared at the carpet in silent mortification. "What do we do?" she asked, monotone. "How does this…" She swallowed. She couldn't grasp a single thought. "What do we _do_?"

Searing rage swelled in George's chest at her chestnut eyes which were imploring for an answer. He hated Mark for what he did to Lexie. He hated the guilt written on Lexie's face. He hated her bloodshot eyes, melted makeup, and disheveled hair. He hated how damn _pretty_ she looked right now.

And he hated himself for thinking so, now of all times. He hated himself for letting it go so far.

"I don't know," he replied softly and gruffly, avoiding the look of devastation that crashed over her face. He couldn't stop picturing her writhing beneath him, naked, head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted. His stomach coiled, and his skin felt like it was going to burn off. He couldn't stand being in that moment. "I don't know," he said again. "I just…I have to get out of here. I can't be here right now. I have to go to work."

That was it. He clenched his fists, turned, and headed for the door, snatching up his keys on the way there.

"Wait, George!" Lexie called out, extending her arm toward him futilely. Her voice croaked at the higher volume. "I'm sorry, George, please!" she cried. Her hand, still outstretched, was shaking as she struggled to hold it in midair.

Despite her protest, he did not turn around. "Nobody can know," he said gravely, fingers clenching the doorknob. "This was a mistake. That's it. Just…a mistake." He only believed himself a little bit.

He twisted the knob, opened the door, and stepped through. It was almost unbearably hard for him not to glance back at Lexie one more time before it closed behind him.

Lexie did not know how long she stood there, frozen. A minute or so, maybe even an hour. Everything was numb, all except for her heart. It hammered like crazy, sending prickly adrenaline through her body. It hurt. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to do this.

She wasn't supposed to sink to _his_ level.

She wasn't like him. She didn't hurt people like he did.

Except, apparently, she did.

What was she going to do now?

With a hopeless answer of _I don't know_ echoing in her mind, she collapsed onto the couch, leaning on her side against the pillow she had stolen. It felt like that happened a lifetime ago.

Then again, it kind of did.

Her head was still pounding, in danger of exploding. She held it in her hands, breathing deeply, swallowing the awful feeling spreading from her stomach to her throat. Tears threatened, but her eyes were tired to let them fall. The carpet swirled in her blurry vision.

Maybe Mark was like this too right now. Hungover or drunk, alone, regretful, guilty. Hurting.

But, somehow, imagining Mark in this kind of pain didn't make her feel better at all.

If it was possible, which it _wasn't_, it might have made everything even worse.


End file.
